Some Half Baked Ideal Called Wonderful
by Jilly-chan
Summary: AU. Keisuke takes an active part in his friends' love lives, while managing to get tangled in one himself. Crossover with: Pretear, Gundam Wing, Utena, X and Keisuke, of course. work in progress
1. Memories Can Never

Memories Can Never  
  
by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I think I'm going to try a longer fic again. This time the characters are currently a collection from Pretear, Utena, X, Gundam Wing and Keisuke POV. I'm going to try to write a longer story with a better plot-but this is me I'm talking about and I'm supreme tangent girl. Feel free to read, review, leave suggestions. Lyrics by the Moody Blues song, "You Can Never Go Home.")  
  
***  
  
I don't know what I'm searching for  
  
I never have opened the door  
  
Tomorrow might find me at last,  
  
Turning my back on the past,  
  
But, time will tell, of stars that fell,  
  
A million years ago.  
  
Most of the success stories I've heard have seemed more like a series of dumb luck. Sure, education, wealth, good-looks . . . that all might line you up for better odds. But the opportunity, if it isn't there: nothing will help you.  
  
And that's where luck comes in.  
  
A patch of good fortune will bring a good job, a sexy girlfriend, a hip apartment. Even if you only have a GED. If you catch the right person's eye or accidentally turn the wrong corner. Fortune is fickle.  
  
And I'm tired of these deep thoughts. Pressing my fingers into the flesh of my forehead, I wonder where the throbbing is coming from. I can't get it to stop.  
  
Maybe it's because my teeth are clenched closed. Each bone of the top teeth crushed into it's lower counterpart. I'm distracted by a brief thought of how I'm fortunate to still have my teeth. There she is again, lady Luck. Mocking me once more. Giving just so much, like a school girl tease. Nothing that really satisfies what I say I need.  
  
It's be nice if people wouldn't mistake my habit of speaking my mind as that I'm a smart ass. Mostly what I say is just stupid. No, it's the real smart asses that get away with the sharpest remarks.  
  
The fingers trail from my forehead to test my jaw, loosening those packed teeth. Relieving a little tension from my headache interestingly enough. Although, it's immediately followed by the sensation of pain.  
  
"Why the hell did you punch me, Hayate?" I say finally, my tongue testing the renewed spaces of my mouth.  
  
He scowls at me. The dark blue of his eyes hidden by that ridiculously long hair of his. Remember the comment about education, wealth and good- looks? Yup, that's Hayate. After living with him for over a year, that was when all those ideas about good luck and bad luck began to formulate. Only thing is, each door sitting open in front of him, Hayate systematically closes. He's the biggest martyr I've ever seen, and he doesn't even go to church to earn points with the guy upstairs. I suppose that makes him an even more tragic case.  
  
It wasn't always so bad. I mean, would a cool guy like me really live with a complete jerk? Well, I did live with Saionji for a few years-and trust me, I split as soon as Hayate propositioned me. Come on, do you blame me? Prissy mirror hog or self-defeating quiet guy? I didn't even have to draw out a list of pros and cons.  
  
And no, the punching wasn't necessarily a con. Hayate doesn't regularly beat up his roommate. I'm pretty sure that the violent outburst was due to the fact he'd had a pretty lousy day at work. And it didn't help that I called him my woman and asked for dinner as soon as I walked in the door. It wasn't like I hadn't had a hard day myself. But then again, Hayate likes women. I like . . . well, I have a broader appreciation for God's great creation.  
  
Not that I get lucky. Ever. Mind you.  
  
He seems almost ready to apologize. I can be pretty pathetic and cute when I want to be. It's a Yuki family trait, I've seen Miaka pull it off with her steady boyfriend. My kid sister definitely has him whipped. My charm isn't nearly as successful. But Hayate's uncurling his fist and turning bashful. He feels bad.  
  
"If it's that bad, you could have asked me to take it back . . . before greeting me with your fist."  
  
"I'm sorry, Keisuke." Hayate turns around quickly, clearing off his side of the couch and collapsing in it. He's still tall enough that his knees are bent above the level of the couch itself. He presses his head into the heel of his arm, turning into the corner of the couch. I can see his face turn red. He's not one to usually loose his cool.  
  
"Sure," I joke, "It's no big deal. Slug me whenever you feel like it." I glance over at him every now and again while I pretend to pick up the dishes littering the coffee table. Plates from last night. And the night before and . . . well. I'm a big slob really, I was only pretending to clean mind you.  
  
Hayate is a very mild slob. He usually keeps his living space tidy. You won't find him in the kitchen for more than three minutes at a time, and that's only if the milk has been pushed to the farthest back corner of the refrigerator.  
  
I'd only known Hayate really since we'd started paying rent on the same place. No one really ever called for him, not even telemarketers. I'd never seen pictures of friends, family. Of course, I met him through a circle of bar buddies. But Hayate only came once and a while, never participating much more than a game of darts. He even avoided the alcohol.  
  
I open my mouth to say something and feel the remaining pain prick again. I decide I didn't really ever want to see Hayate drink, it was bad enough dealing with the guy sober.  
  
And as much as I want to pry, Hayate is not one to confide his feelings with anyone. I'd rather hug a porcupine.  
  
But I can't help but wonder if his gambling with luck had taken a sour turn.  
  
Memories can never take you back, home, sweet home.  
  
You can never go home anymore.  
  
All my life I never really knew me 'til today,  
  
Now I know why, I'm just another step along the way,  
  
I lie awake for hours, I'm just waiting for the sun.  
  
I checked my face in the mirror and decided that any bruising wouldn't really be noticeable that evening. Leaving Hayate to brew into the evening by himself, I ate a sandwich and took off again. Leaving my plate on the coffee table of course.  
  
I drive this classic car that's well-kept enough that it's rusting from the inside out. After trying the tired engine a second time, I pulled out. Glancing over at Hayate's motorcycle and wondering how solitary the guy could isolate himself. Even his wheels denied access to visitors.  
  
It didn't take to long to make it down town to the Four Doors. It was a cheap beer and dark shadows type of place. The best kept secret in my opinion. Someone had cranked on the juke box starting some Presley when I walked in.  
  
"Turn it off." I protest, making a scene. Covering my ears.  
  
"I thought you liked classics, Keisuke?" Himeno slugs my arm as I joined her by the pool table. She was a cute kid with the most horrid hair cut flipped out by her ears. She said the hairdresser had accidentally taken a longer chunk off than they'd agreed to and had tried to even it out. Himeno had been saying that for as long as I've known her. But if you'd ask, the story was always the same.  
  
"Some classics," I mumble, studying the placement of the balls around the table. Himeno has a great shot lined up, which she manages to miss. And we all laughed at that.  
  
"I have the worst luck!" She laughs loudest, and puts her hands on each hip she tries to scowl down her opponent. It doesn't work as Dorothy's the coolest cucumber to cross the threshold of Four Doors. And don't ask about the name, the joint has only had two doors that I've ever seen. I almost figured out an answer to that question one evening, but I can't remember exactly what it was that I'd been drinking that night to finish the thought.  
  
Dorothy had been leaning with her hip against the table, studying the latest placement of the pieces. She's like that, aloof and calculating. Always looking down her aristocratic nose and chin to study the commoners. The shadows of the place only make her seem more ethereal, I doubt Dorothy would let the sun color her skin. She's rather reluctant to let outside elements change her.  
  
Not even Duo had done that. He's sitting at a table, leaning against the wall and watching the girls. The first thing you notice about that guy is his teeth, that ever present goofy smile that you just can't help mirroring.  
  
Feeling the Duo's dynamic pull, I'm bored watching Dorothy sink another two pieces perfectly.  
  
"Hey, gorgeous."  
  
"Stop flattering me," I take the seat opposite him and lean against the wall myself, only turning my head to glance at him now and again. He's peering at me from the corner of his eye.  
  
"Where's Hayate?"  
  
"Brooding." I point at Duo's drink and wave at the waitress desperately. She smiles. She understands.  
  
"And you just left him there?"  
  
"Well, sure." I smile wryly. Sometimes I do that to look cute. Tonight, it was a bit necessary-my lip was still tingling. "He's in a bad mood."  
  
Duo took another drink, watching as Dorothy crosses to the other side of the table. The blonde woman effectively ignoring Himeno's pleas and offers of money to give up her never-ending series of turns. Duo swallows noisily, with a refreshed gasp of breath, "You never cease to amaze me, Keisuke-kun. I would have thought you would be the more sensitive type. Don't you realize it's when Hayate's the gloomiest that he most needs to let his hair down."  
  
I snicker, "And you're the one to mentor him in that area, I'm sure." Ogling that caramel colored braid of Duo's. Hayate's hair was longer than most men would let theirs go, but it was dark, coarse and manly. Duo's hair was a bit too silky making it rather pretty overall. I run my fingers through my own sandy mop chance gave me.  
  
"I've got to break up this music." Duo pulls out his wallet just as the waitress sits down my drink with a smile. I smile back. Duo likes to break things up. He broke up with Dorothy, not that either of them would admit they were ever something together that might be broken. He broke rules shamelessly-I'm pretty sure that Four Doors has a no shirt, no shoes, no service policy. Duo always seems to lose those articles from his body the later the evening gets. And once, with no explanation at all, I got to watch him break an entire set of glass glasses. I'm so glad I don't have that snapping point most guys get pressured into.  
  
Hayate lashes out, Duo smashes things. They're both great guys. It's just the world's piling up on their backs and they haven't yet learned to shake it off. Although, Duo fakes it pretty well.  
  
When the journey we are making has begun,  
  
Don't deny the feeling that is stealing through your heart,  
  
Every happy ending needs to have a start.  
  
It was just then that the love birds slipped in. Dorothy studies them with a displaced interest. Himeno waves enthusiastically, accidentally bumping the table with her body and spoiling Dorothy's next shot. Duo's already coaxed the juke box to play some rather horrid selection of country. I should have known better than to leave us at his music mercy.  
  
I take another quick drink. Where's the waitress? I need another.  
  
"Bleh, can you believe it? My car is still in the shop and I'm having my big sister tow me around." Sorata takes Duo's old seat and begs my pity with his best puppy expression. If only he had any idea how cute he is? Sorata and I go way back. We graduated from high school together, discovered porn together, got caught with it together. He's a normal, all around nice guy with the sort of simple eyes that look their best curled about in a smile. I can feel my ears turning red.  
  
Sometimes it would be nice to have longer hair, I do believe.  
  
"What else is new?" I fix my eyes instead on the women by the bar, Sorata's sister a tall foreboding shadow. Juri had always been sure that any serious mischief the two of us might have caused was nipped and quick. Next to her tall form was Kozue, coyly tangled with her girlfriend, of course. They were rather inseparable and older than the rest of us. They only bothered with Four Doors when Sorata's car broke down.  
  
"Had to bring them along with, didn't ya?" Dou slaps Sorata's near shoulder with great affection and takes the next seat, reclaiming what was left at the bottom of his glass in one swallow. "You know I've always had the hots for the little one." Duo pretended to pierce his heart with the nearest eating utensil. "Kills me to see them so happy . . . without me."  
  
"Shut up. It's embarrassing." Sorata grumbles, always slipping into his role as the younger sibling. Folding his arms on the table and slouching over, as if his comment was made in complete confidence.  
  
"You might want to watch what you say." Dorothy appears at the end of the table. Does she ever miss a word of any conversation? "I wouldn't be surprised if you find someone to settle down with and turn into a your very own pile of slimy goo."  
  
"You are just such a romantic." Duo quips, as Dorothy pulls a chair to the end of the table. Himeno has already slid in next to me. I'm squirming in my seat. I need another drink.  
  
"You should talk." Dorothy arced one eyebrow, she's especially cool tonight. But when she wants to play, the conversation can certainly turn interesting. Everyone's distracted by their familiar banter, Sorata's laughing in that high pitch manner that always makes me want to laugh at him since it's so put on. Or is it that I want to laugh with him?  
  
Can you tell that Sorata's sort of a sore point? I hate to admit it, but, when he does find the right girl, I'm going to cry all the way through the wedding.  
  
"Don't talk like that!" Himeno says with her cute determination and idealism, "Love is a wonderful thing. Makes the most fascinating pile of goo ever." God, I love her optimism. Puts me to shame.  
  
All my life I never really knew me 'til today,  
  
Now I know why, I'm just another step along the way,  
  
Weep no more for treasures you've been searching for in vain.  
  
'Cos the truth is gently falling with the rain,  
  
High above the forest lie the pastures of the sun,  
  
Where the two that learned the secret are now one.  
  
It's Sunday morning and I'm at the mall way too soon after early mass. I'm sure that God and I might have some differences of opinion, but I like to keep in touch. There's something about going every once and a while that sort of refreshes, like scrubbing all those stupid decisions from the last week and trying again. I might not always have my act together, but I want to look back at my life and agree that I made the best choices possible to benefit everyone.  
  
I wander past the still locked stores, dark behind the iron bars. I'm on my second lap and as I pass the door I entered the third time Hayate matches my slowing step.  
  
"Hey." I smile, I'm rather predictable in my patterns. Friday night Four Doors, Saturday Four Doors, Sunday morning mass and then a trip to the mall to walk a few laps with the old folks in town and to check out the recent DVD releases. Then the rest of Sunday at home watching my arguably well invested money. It's not really a surprise that Hayate found me, I'm easy to find.  
  
"What's coming out this week?"  
  
"Not much," We pass the same lady in the yellow polka dot shirt I've lapped each time. I smile at her. She smiles back. "I'm thinking about looking for something classic. Hitchcock maybe."  
  
"Sounds . . . nice." He's trying something hard. His hands stuffed deep in his pockets, a slouch in his posture.  
  
"I suppose you still feel bad about Friday and want to buy me a make up gift?" I toss and arm across his shoulders and purr coyly. He flinches, trying still to get used to my more flamboyant moments. "Don't sweat it, Hayate. You're still okay in my book."  
  
"I don't know why . . ."  
  
I let the arm slip from his shoulders and give him some space. Oh my gosh, is this a confession?  
  
"Maybe I was angry."  
  
"You really shouldn't lash out at those you love, Hayate man." I slip in lightly, offering him every opportunity to fall back into normal brooding Hayate mode. "You're too hard on yourself, though."  
  
"Love?" Hayate laughs sort of hoarsely, the sort that kind of rasps on the ear and sounds like a death rattle.  
  
The silence is thick a moment. So thick that the music mix of a popular song on the radio can't cut it. I feel it might be a good thing for Hayate to loosen up. And I'm not very fond of having someone vent their frustrations on me-even if I am a smart ass. Oops, there I confessed it. Funny how Sundays will do that to me.  
  
"You don't have to explain, just don't do it again." I sigh, "and I'll try not to be as insensitive."  
  
Hayate doesn't say anything as we stand in front of the movie store, watching the manager unlock the gate and lift it up half way. I check my watch. Doesn't she see us right here? Waiting. Let us in already.  
  
"You see, I have a bit of a problem." Hayate runs his finger through that hair of his, until it tangles around the clasp holding it together at the bottom, pulling a few strands free. He's going to have to re-bind them now.  
  
"A problem?" My ears prick just as the manager finishes opening the store's guard door. We slip inside, the first ones to peruse the merchandise that morning.  
  
"Yeah, someone from my past."  
  
I don't know what I'm searching for  
  
I never have opened the door,  
  
Tomorrow might find me at last,  
  
Turning my back on the past,  
  
But, time will tell, of stars that fell,  
  
A million years ago.  
  
Make the room stop spinning. I'm in the apartment, Hayate and I had managed to make it back home by means of our separate vehicles and my newest Hitchcock lay forgotten on the coffee table, next to Friday and Saturday's forgotten dinner dishes.  
  
The room's spinning and I don't have a drop of alcohol in my system. Except that communion wine.  
  
Hayate even looks a little relieved, if dizzy himself. We've lived together how long and . . . now his closet door starts to open. And we're both surprised how the mistakes of our childhood can follow us into our presents. Shaping who we are, how we think, what we say. Toss in a little bit of luck. And that's how we become ourselves.  
  
"So what do I do?" Hayate asks, imploring me. That's a first. Not many people seek out my opinion, I'm flattered, but I decide it might not be the best to mention how I'm feeling at that exact moment. Don't want to jeopardize any of my fragilely won integrity.  
  
"Come clean, be honest with her."  
  
"You make it sound so easy." Hayate falls back against his seat, not liking my answer.  
  
"What do you want? Step by step instructions? For me to hold your hand through this, oh wait. That might give her the wrong idea." I laugh at my own joke, Hayate's not laughing. "I don't mean that you have to tell her how you feel. But I think you should tell her that this guy is back in the country. He was her friend too, you said."  
  
"I don't want to share her."  
  
"Dear Lord," I stare at the ceiling, "It's not like you have any claim on her either. The kid has no idea you're sweet on her."  
  
The look Hayate gives me curdles the milk I had in my breakfast cereal ten hours ago.  
  
"Well, you don't." I shake my head, "You hardly come down to Four Doors anymore. And it's not like you see Himeno anywhere else. She's not yours unless you ask her."  
  
His scowl deepens. I wonder how long he's harbored these feelings. And of course, it's a stupid man who doesn't begin to act on them until a rival shows himself.  
  
And whoever this Sesame fellow is, he's definitely enough of a threat to shake Hayate's monkish resolve to leave Himeno untainted. And there again is the silly male idea that their special woman might be flawless.  
  
"Besides," I conspire wickedly, "Wouldn't it work to your advantage to tell Himeno yourself? That way you'll be by her side when she sees him next. Rather than this Sesame swooping her off her feet unexpectedly. Easy way to get ahead, huh?"  
  
He's actually considering what I've said.  
  
But even my best ideas cannot escape fate. There's always the unexpected variable called luck.  
  
Memories can never take you back, home, sweet home.  
  
You can never go home anymore.  
  
tbc 


	2. For Tinkerbell

For Tinkerbell  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: After many false starts and Road Rage flashbacks and counseling, here is chapter two of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful. I'm getting the knack of writing something separate from the Road Rage saga finally. Which is good, I need to flex a bit. Characters, not mine. Lyrics belong to Gordon Lightfoot who seems to single-handedly fuel this storyline so far. Enjoy. Let me know how I'm doing.)  
  
***  
  
I suppose I never paid that much attention to Himeno before Hayate's small confession. She'd always been a more or less cute kid. Quite a bit of fun. I still remember the day that Ayame brought her in, brand new twenty- one and coming into Four Doors on her own ID. After a lemonade, ice tea and a well-disguised fruity drink deprived of alcohol, Himeno left as sober as she came in. But she kept coming back, apparently she had a fancy for the fruity drink. Or my jokes. Or Dorothy's unchallenged pool championship title.  
  
I had asked Aya where he picked her up one evening while Himeno was busying herself collecting the pool balls. Turned out that he'd been trying to contact a more risquÃ© house cleaning service and ended up getting the real thing. The sunshine kid cleaned houses for a living, barely paid her rent, and tried to look cute so that guys would hit on her and buy her drinks. Duo and I had no end of fun buying them and asking the waitress to say they were gifts from various other guys in the bar. Himeno had the most fluffed up ego of out lot and we loved her for it.  
  
She was the baby of the group. Sorata and I had been nearing our twenty- eighth birthdays with some dread. Meaning that Duo had to be close if not twenty-eight already. Duo'd been a transfer student and graduated from high school with us back in the day.  
  
It all reminded me of a crazy trip of fake ID's and borrowing Juri's car one weekend during high school. Duo'd just transferred in, and if Juri thought I was leading her brother astray she didn't know the half of it. I was all for the party, but the ideas . . . the ideas Duo had were unrivaled.  
  
"Oh my gosh, Himeno love, stop perusing the lists, we all know you're going to just get a Coke anyway." Aya waves his hand toward the little girl, wrinkling his nose like there was a bad smell causing his voice to come out a bit higher pitched.  
  
She turns pink and her dynamic hair even seems to bristle with embarrassment. I watch her with continued amusement. Since his confession, Hayate has avoided our circle of friends with even more determination. Now that I thought about it, he'd practically turned off the social scene all together when Aya had brought her the first time. Curious. He hadn't seemed to have unsettled Himeno in any way.  
  
"Large *vanilla* Coke." She tells the waitress with a bright smile, then slips from the seat to renew her challenge with Dorothy who stands waiting. If I didn't know better I'd say that Dorothy's more than a little fond of the munchkin herself. At least, she doesn't torment Himeno with the same scarring remarks upon her character that Dorothy seems more than fond of doing for the rest of us.  
  
"Oooo, *vanilla* . . ." Aya echoes, raising his eyebrows with mock surprises and taps one long index finger to his lips. "She's certainly moving up, next it'll be Tequila. They grow up so fast."  
  
"You should complain," Duo says from his lounging position, he'd been zeroed in on every girl who'd walked into Four Doors so far that evening, and had yet to find anything enticing enough to leave his comfortable seat, "At least she shows up to clean your house on time and doesn't steal your booze."  
  
"Hmm. There is that." Aya laughs loudly, three sharp barks as were characteristic to him. For anyone else it might seemed put on or mocking, but I don't think I've ever heard Ayame laugh any other way. "And she's cheaper by the hour too . . ."  
  
That's funny. It's not like Aya didn't secure a large inheritance when his parents died. Leaving himself and his brother well off, practically set for life. The only trouble had come when Aya lost his brother. He'd been old enough to act as a legal guardian but because of his questionable lifestyle and frequent lover choices a set of their grandparents had taken Yuki away. Aya hadn't been allowed to see or speak with his kid brother for five years now. Not that Aya talked about it ever.  
  
Personally, I think Aya's been trying to be everyone's big brother ever since. At least, that's the only reason why I can explain why he retained Himeno's services and gave up on the more . . . exotic . . . cleaning services.  
  
Does your mother know  
  
you had to go someday?  
  
Does your mother know  
  
that you would go so fast?  
  
Anyway, that's all you think about,  
  
you'd call her if you could.  
  
When I managed to get the key into the lock, turn it, take it out, twist the doorknob, push open the door, step inside . . . about fifteen minutes later I'd imagine, or at least it felt like it, I scowl at Hayate who's sitting on the couch. Doing nothing. The only light the one lamp on the nearby table. He's watching me as I turn, grab the inside knob, push the door closed (fall into it, more or less), steady myself, find the deadbolt lock, secure it.  
  
"Whadya want?" I slur, taking a few steps before deciding I'd gone far enough and drop into the closest chair. I'm more than a tad relieved as I realize that I didn't miss the chair and I'm safely in it.  
  
"You stink." Hayate says simply.  
  
I stare at him a while, taking a while to digest what he said, process what it means, what it means literally, what it might mean figuratively, what it probably means when Hayate says it.  
  
"Oh really?" I reply, sounding like a smart ass. "Well, you could stink too if you bothered to go out with us anymore." I laugh before I get to my own punch line, "Then we can stink together."  
  
"That's a great idea." Hayate says in what I'm suspecting is a continuation of his pissed off at reality voice.  
  
"Himeno was there," I reply dumbly, trying to remember what that meant and if it were a good idea to mention her.  
  
Hayate's jaw is set, but he doesn't attack me. Instead, he sits politely at a distance and stares at me for a while.  
  
"Dude, when are you going to come back? There is absolutely no way that you're going to get to know the girl if you're always here on the weekends and every weeknight." I realize that I'm having a hard time keeping my head up. "Good grief, I could even steal her away if I were interested. She's so cute and single and available . . ."  
  
Hayate's practically vibrating with fury, or simple anger, or passion, or something, anything, unbridled. With him it's hard to tell.  
  
I hold my head up a moment, my interest in Hayate's unrequited feelings and non-commitment to any sort of pursuit of Himeno decreasing significantly as the world started to spin the other direction this time. "I, I think I need a drink."  
  
"Sure you do." Hayate laughs. A short bark, like Aya's . . . only, I'm guessing Hayate is not amused.  
  
But the letters that you write  
  
in the faded winter light  
  
just tell her, they tell her  
  
that you've got ten dollars  
  
and you'll be all right  
  
and when you get straight  
  
you're gonna come back east some day.  
  
I don't know what I'd do without friends to watch out for me. I mean, Duo's always invited me to his open bar parties where he mixes the most splendid drinks where one is almost enough to smash you into next Tuesday. Dorothy always drives me home from Duo's parties. Sorata gives me an attractive partner in crime; Himeno reminds me that innocence can be cute. Aya loaned me money when I was getting started.  
  
I've come quite a way from getting started. I mean, I did have a spot of trouble with my mother when she found out that I done a little experimenting in things besides alcohol. That was when Aya's friendship came in handy. The guy felt more than a little sorry for me, and he was the obvious one to identify with the hasty decisions of family members. He hooked me up with Saionji where the rent was cheap. But, I mentioned that before.  
  
Honestly, mom and I keep in touch. Mostly through Miaka. My kid sister can be pretty cool when it comes to someone's love life. I mean, honestly! She's a fifteen year old dating a college graduate. A very attractive college graduate. If I could be so lucky.  
  
Our poor mother.  
  
I was thinking about all of that while scooping dead fish from the tanks at work. Didn't I mention that? I'm the assistant manager at a pet supply store. It's pretty much a dead end job unless I decide that I want to breed pedigree pooches. There's an idea.  
  
Anyway, after perversely chasing a few of the large mean fish with the net. I turn around to see Hayate watching me, with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and his chin lowered so that his hair slips over and about his eyes. An effective shield.  
  
"Hey, gorgeous!"  
  
"Don't call me that." Hayate glowers, although he's pretty unaffected by my comment. "You sound like Duo when you do that."  
  
"But it works for Duo . . ." I mock whine, flicking the fish net at him and successfully nailing him with a few drops of tank water. "What are you doing here? If only I worked on commission . . . now let's see." I point just to Hayate's right. "Oh, perfect. You should take two of those. Name the red one Himeno and the blue one Hayate."  
  
"Siamese fighting fish?"  
  
"Okay," I shrug, trying to keep the stupid grin off my face, "Maybe they don't want to share fish bowls, but you could still set them side by side and get more of a reaction that the human versions get . . . just a suggestion."  
  
"I didn't come here for a suggestion." Hayate scowls more. I really shouldn't tease him, the poor guy knocks himself down so much no one ~else~ really has a chance to put him in his place.  
  
"Maybe an iguana, something lizardy and solitary." I can't help myself, "No, sorry. What is it, Hayate?"  
  
"I was wondering . . . I need." Hayate swallows, hard. A second time, "Forget it. I'll manage myself . . ." He turns and walks out faster than I can react.  
  
"Hey, wait!" I call after him, but I'm paged by a frustrated representative trying to explain the ingredient differences in our kitty litter to a customer hung up on particulars. One measly coupon-offered later, I manage to sell the woman the overpriced name brand version. They should give me a commission.  
  
Does your mother know  
  
you have a man in the West?  
  
Does your mother know  
  
you drove him from your door?  
  
Anyway that's all you think about,  
  
you'd call her if you could.  
  
"Where was Himeno tonight?" I ask as Duo and I close the bar. He's comfortably wrapped around my neck and I'm glad he's not going home with any of the girls he'd hit on during the evening. For once the more sober of us two, I have a grip around his shoulders and we start to walk toward the parking lot on the side of the Four Doors. Dorothy had gone ahead to start the car.  
  
As much as I like Duo snuggled up to me like that, the boy is as straight as an arrow. And personally, I'm a bit mystified by the non-relationship he's kept with Dorothy this past year. She snottily cleans up his messes and mocks his love affairs. All the while waiting around for him. At least it looks that way to me. According to Duo, he doesn't have a snowball's chance with her. I wonder what gave him that idea?  
  
After I settled in with Saionji, the nightmare roommate, Duo finished his communications degree and started in with a radio station in town. He was mostly scripting out advertisement spots and doing some voice work for them, but after getting in the know with the core group of djs and radio personalities, Duo was going to be starting his own movies segment in the fall. We were all excited for him.  
  
He could have gone to any station anywhere, but he wanted to be near his old friends. Which was why I was there, working at the oh-so-full-of- advancement-opportunities pet store. No, I had gone to follow Sorata. And while my mother had a good idea of my intentions, Sorata was obliviously happy to have a buddy around to hang out with. Which was how I liked it. Having him happy to see me.  
  
And why was Sorata there? Well, his sister had given him the opportunity of a lifetime-to prove himself as a principal photographer for her women's magazine. And he had talent.  
  
"Himeno?" Duo says, a puzzled lift in the last syllable making the girl's name sound like a bloodhound's howl.  
  
I'm suddenly nervous, and scramble for an excuse, "Himeno? I meant to say Sorata. Heh heh heh, silly me." God, I sound stupid to myself even.  
  
"Sorata." Duo slips a bit, we've managed six steps so far, and he rests heavily against the brick wall just beyond the Four Doors' front window. "Now, there's something that you and Himeno have in common."  
  
"Huh?" I had been curious for Hayate's sake, but now I'm curious for my own.  
  
"Unrequited . . ." Duo coughs.  
  
"Unrequited love?" I demand eagerly, perhaps sour-puss Hayate does have a chance with tulip-head.  
  
"Love? Who said love?" Duo says slyly in low tones. "Why!? Do you love Sorata, Keisuke?"  
  
"Damn you." I scowl adoringly, "What's this about Himeno?"  
  
"Or maybe you love, Himeno?"  
  
"You're impossible." I pull Duo's arm around my neck more securely, trying to lift more of his body weight on my shoulders, even cool Dorothy herself must have reached some point of annoyance by now. But she's sitting patiently in the car, and I wonder at her levels of endurance. "He's an idiot." I tell her after we've strapped a nearly unconscious Duo into the passenger seat.  
  
"I know." Dorothy says.  
  
Does your mother know  
  
you walked all day in the rain?  
  
Does your mother know  
  
how deep your love could be?  
  
Anyway that's all you think about,  
  
you'd call her if you could.  
  
Two weeks after Hayate greeted me with his fist, I'm thinking about getting a lottery ticket at the gas station while Duo is flirting with the woman at the register. But I'm not really feeling that lucky, and Duo isn't either as we leave without her phone number.  
  
"It's just as well," I try to consol as we get back into my car, "It's not like we're coming back through here again any time soon."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Duo exclaims. With good reason. The two of us are staking out a potential gig for him in the next state over. Duo's an aspiring saxophone player, and he's pretty decent player if you want an honest answer. A lot of hopefuls show up now and again at this place to get a chance to play. Duo went twice before and the last time got a pleasant, "You're great but . . ." which left him hanging worse than a girl who teases. Duo's got this rabbits-foot-syndrome and since I went along with the time he got good reviews, he practically insisted I take vacation time to chase off three hours while he follows through on his chances.  
  
"Don't listen to me," I find myself taking a foot out of my mouth again, "You're sure to get an album deal with this audition."  
  
"Shut up, Keisuke, and just look cute."  
  
"That's what I'm good at." I laugh, trying not to get frustrated as Duo hums nervously, off key. Tapping his fingers against the ledge of the car door.  
  
Three hours after the three hour drive, Duo gets his opportunity to play for the talent manager again. It's just a guy at a bar who hires gigs for their place. But Duo holds this guy in high esteem, and so do a whole lot of other folk as I scan the hopefuls. I'm practically the only person without an instrument or a fist full of piano music.  
  
And I will admit, Duo might hum off key, but his sax is pure jazz. Swell stuff, if I'm any judge. But my mother did say I always had a bit of a flair for the artistic side, even if I had no talent personally.  
  
The man who's doing the evaluations, smokes contentedly. And puts out his cigarette with a quick smash, when Duo breathlessly relaxes his saxophone.  
  
"I've always said you have talent kid."  
  
Duo's face lights up, I can feel it from the third to last row of hastily assembled chairs.  
  
"Do you play anything besides the sax? I have a sax player."  
  
I'm out of my seat and meet Duo before he's able to slip more than three steps from the performance area. "You were amazing, Maxwell!" I slip in his last name to provide him some emotional distance, sometimes I'm thoughtful like that. Anxiously, I watch his eyes, dulled and without any emotion. That's good, right? Better than sad, I think.  
  
"Maxwell?"  
  
We both turn back. I catch the door before it closes on a fellow who's followed us all the way to the exit.  
  
"I run and hide, but I never lie." Duo says wearily. He must be frustrated, he's using his pick-up lines on a complete stranger. And a guy. And, well, a very attractive guy. "That's me, Duo Maxwell."  
  
"Duo Maxwell," The stranger repeats for good measure, he's a tall but slightly built man. Fair with silvery-blond hair that reminds me of Dorothy's. Maybe that's why Duo's interested, misplaced emotions . . . but I don't want to carry that thought too far. The stranger holds out his hand, a slight but very friendly smile crosses his features. Causing his eyes to soften behind his glasses. "I'm looking for a saxophone player, and I can't let you leave without giving you an offer."  
  
"What?" Duo says, one eyebrow pushed under the loose wisps of hair, disbelieving.  
  
"He said he's looking for a . . ."  
  
"I heard him." Duo interrupts me, perplexed. "You scout other people's auditions?"  
  
"Is that so terrible?" The stranger laughs almost nervously, I'm instantly charmed. "It's actually the first time. And I wasn't really serious about scouting today either. But you are serious about your music, and that's why I had to offer."  
  
"Who are you? What exactly are you offering?" Duo finally accepting the extended handshake.  
  
"My real name is Henry Feist. My mom calls me Hank. My friends call me Sesame." Then laughing softly again, he adds, "Call me Sesame."  
  
But the letters that you write  
  
in the faded winter light  
  
just tell her, they tell her  
  
that you've got ten dollars  
  
and your rent costs eight  
  
and when you get straight  
  
you're gonna come back east some day.  
  
But the letters that you write  
  
in the faded winter light,  
  
just tell her, they tell her. 


	3. Stone Cold Sober

Stone Cold Sober  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: ARGH! Why am I writing another epic? I love it. Yes, but each time I start a new fic I have this perverse goal of making it more challenging. Wait, this is supposed to be a disclaimer, not a counseling session. ~whew~ Characters, not mine. Music, not mine (Gordon again). Alternate reality. Thanks for giving my insanity a chance! This is a bit of a set up chapter, but try to: Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
If you really knew  
  
how many times  
  
I've tried to help you  
  
I feel worse than if I were cheating. Cheating, the blind, desperate, passionate, sweaty variety. The pure indulge first, ask questions later variety. I glance back with a sick smile on my face. I feel sick anyway. The half-way to puking feeling when you've eaten way too many sweets. No one's noticed yet.  
  
Oh the apparent innocence of it all.  
  
Don't see me sneaking toward the phone, I think desperately. Damn. What luck. I glance back, again with my lips pulled back. I'm sure I look like a wussy drug dealing punk the way I'm twisting the payphone cord around my finger, panic dripping from my face, all slouched over hidden in my favorite trench coat. I used to do things like this to spook my kid sister.  
  
Not while I'm calling to warn my best friend.  
  
Whoa. Since when have I thought of Hayate as my best friend? I ponder that a moment, pressing the volume button so that the ringing is actually audible. Even that slight noise having me fearful that Duo might notice I've suddenly bowed out of my favorite drinking game while he was convincing, rather trying to convince, Dorothy to play.  
  
Best friend. No, no, no. Roommate. Roommates help each other out. And I'd much rather break this news to Hayate over the telephone. I don't want to imagine his face if I told him in person.  
  
"Bad news, brother." I say just as soon as Hayate answers the phone. Duo and I had just come back from a long trip to this jazzy bar where Duo'd had his heart set on being a sax player. But when those dreams had gone down with the backwash, we choked up one very prim and proper Henry Feist, aka Sesame. "You're rival just showed up prematurely. No worries yet, Himeno apparently went to see a movie with some of her girlfriends. But he's here chumming it up with Duo, and I thought you'd want to know."  
  
"Who is?" Whatever emotion I was expecting, dry and almost flat was not what I imagined.  
  
"Sesame is . . ." I hiss, finding it quite a pleasure to let all those "s" sounds slip between my teeth with dramatic flair.  
  
"That's all?"  
  
And I'm a bit dumbfounded when I realize the strange noise Hayate started to make is the buzz of a disconnected call.  
  
If you really knew how many times  
  
I've tried to help you,  
  
make your mind up in the matters of the heart,  
  
you'd not be bothered  
  
by the miscues or the bad trips  
  
that seem to come and plague us.  
  
I give up. Hayate won't have any friends with gratitude like that. I had made an effort. Everyone saw me, my grand escape to the telephone hadn't gone unnoticed; although, I was fairly certain no one could have guessed the true meaning of the call. Duo made some great guesses.  
  
"Don't mind our dear friend, Keisuke." Duo was painfully slumped sideways in his seat, making a rather pathetic impression on his future benefactor. "He has these sudden urges to confess to the Virgin mother and has a direct line to level seven upstairs." Sesame smiled in a subtly amused way. Not condescending in anyway, but more or less ambivalent. He seemed much older than us, still I wouldn't imagine he was more than three years our senior. He apparently was the spokesperson for some politician now that he'd finished a rather brief but successful turn in the court room. We were all rather in awe of the silver-blond haired man after hearing that. It was like a minor deity had decided to grace us with his majestic presence. But as much as I wanted to dislike the guy, he was quite charming to be with.  
  
"You seem to be on rather intimate terms with the Virgin." Sesame says politely, with a touch of teasing. But the bland variety that you just can't justify getting upset at. I find that irksome at times, but then Sesame's flashing that ever endearing, ever contented smile.  
  
"Intimate?" Duo pounces on the word with dizzy glee, "It wasn't the Virgin after all. It was Sorata you were calling . . . Keisuke! I didn't think you were ever going to move on that one?"  
  
Not even Dorothy interferes as I take the time to smash Duo's face into the table. Not that it really did anything but make the braided idiot laugh harder. He is in a perpetual state of glee.  
  
In the matter of a few hours, Sesame had approved of Duo's playing and followed us back to the Four Doors to celebrate. And the entrepreneur also indulged in a little hobby of his which was finding breaks for talented, but struggling musicians. Most of their conversation had been comparing notes. Then there was the revelation that Sesame had done some radio while putting himself through college and a bit of graduate school. His radio personality had been one of Duo's heroes.  
  
The love between them was sickening. The hero and the protégé. So unlike Duo to admire someone else, but at the same time . . . we couldn't help but feel happy for him. Sesame had single-handedly opened the door to all of Duo's most desperate dreams.  
  
His joy was contagious.  
  
As I walk from Dorothy's car to the front door of my apartment complex (she was driving Duo home as well), I can tell already that Hayate's light was out. The only glow a faint lamp he must have left on in the living room. I'll take that as a sign of miniscule gratitude for the razing I got after I called him. Warned him.  
  
My stomach begins to twist with familiar pangs.  
  
Having thought it over,  
  
I sure would like to talk to you again.  
  
In the mornings, I stumble out of bed to sneak into the kitchen for a snack. If I can manage to sneak some of Hayate's cereal into a bowl of milk before he realizes, he doesn't complain. It's if he catches you in the middle of reaching for the cupboard that your life is in dangers. Since I don't usually open the store, it's rare I even see him in the mornings. But that doesn't make it any less dangerous the days he's around.  
  
But today, like all others, he's up ridiculously early. Already in his construction clothes and sitting on the couch watching the news. Right then it is the weather and it looks like it's going to be another scorcher. Somehow summer caught up on us unawares. I always tease that Hayate looks great in florescent orange, but on days like these I'm glad I'm in the florescent glow of a wall full of air conditioned fish tanks rather than directing traffic around monster heat-generating machinery.  
  
I can hear the clanking of his overflowing key ring as he stands. I hastily slosh a spoon into the bowl and swallow my first bite of cereal. Honestly, if I only just remembered to stop by the grocery store on a regular basis I wouldn't have to constantly confess to stealing, but what would be the fun of that?  
  
I peer around from the kitchen as he's pulling open the door, "Have a great day at work, sweetie." I smile, mocking him, waving the spoon around triumphantly. Hayate shakes his head, the better to hide his weary face with that cascade of dark hair.  
  
I swear, he doesn't sleep even if he's lying in his bed for seven hours a night. He doesn't go out any more. He hasn't taken a chance. This has to stop.  
  
"Dammit, Hayate." I feel my righteous indignation settling in, the splendid Yuuki family stubbornness. But I don't know what to say to him while he stare at the floor. The stupid bloke is just way too sensitive. And bashful. "I can't do everything for you."  
  
"Then why are you trying?" He frowns, more puzzled than anything else I'd say.  
  
"I don't like seeing you unhappy." I pout, "Have you ever been happy? I think I saw you laugh that one time that Dorothy threw that dart at Duo and missed by only this much and that was morbid laughter you know."  
  
"Once." Hayate concedes, and I'm surprised again. "Maybe once. How about you?" His words are light, but they freeze my insides with reciprocated insightfulness.  
  
Dammit. Just because he doesn't hide his sadness behind a jolly mask. I take a huge bite of his cereal and chew sloppily. He gets this half baffled, half amused expression on his face, then he's gone.  
  
I turn the television station to cartoons.  
  
I was stone cold sober,  
  
it was daylight in October  
  
when you reached across the table  
  
put your hand upon my shoulder  
  
and my lips were warm with kissing  
  
while we found the missing pieces  
  
to all the empty spaces  
  
This is not supposed to be my story, but gosh darn it. I can get sentimental if I want to. And Hayate's done it. Once again, he's pulled me from behind my happy-go-lucky exterior and reminded me that I'm lonely too. I don't think anyone really sees it besides him. And he probably only notices because I'm the only human contact that he has and Hayate gets to focus all of his analytical abilities on me then.  
  
Or maybe it's because we're more kindred spirits than we'd like to admit. Sure, he's got this complex about Himeno. But I have my own complex. And I like to think I've managed a rather complicated one for myself as well. Only thing is, Hayate's got this opportunity to make his better. Bastard.  
  
Opportunities are these things that are given to you. It's almost like we have no control over things at times. Like some divine hand swoops in and holds us back until it's too late, and then I spend a lot of time confessing that it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. But, sometimes . . .  
  
Sometimes was a girl named Sylvia.  
  
Hello, I didn't say I was gay did I? I might be sometimes-or most of the time, but there are some girls that just make you reconsider. No wait. One girl. One.  
  
Kind of like Sorata is the one guy. One.  
  
It's too early in the morning to think about this. I just get depressed, and the birds at work can tell when I feel crappy because they always seem to leave truckloads of it around right after I've just cleaned up after them.  
  
Then . . . that's the sort of thing I say that would make them laugh. Sorata's squeak like he's running on helium or chipmunks. Sylvia's bashful relaxation after a sudden expulsion. I loved making her laugh.  
  
I sure would like  
  
to talk that way again.  
  
Being serious for a few minutes only makes me identify with Hayate more. It wasn't that he didn't have opportunities, it was just that he couldn't seem to take them. Becoming a recluse while every opportunity he had was slipping away.  
  
But I must admit, it still feels a little funny watching Himeno and realizing that little weirdo girl was causing my roommate so much trouble. I know she has no idea, but I am also certain I'm not the one to tell her.  
  
She's with me and Dorothy wandering around the mall together. It's Sunday, late morning, and I'm still a bit flighty from my weekly religious experience. Okay, it's a bit bizarre that I get off on old church tradition, but it's something that always seems to touch me even as I get older. It's the refreshed buzz that I get after confessing all the more hung over moments I'd had early that weekend.  
  
But this time, I'd asked the big guy for some favors. Not that I really expected Him to deposit Sorata in a red cellophane on my doorstep, or that even if He did that Hayate would let me invite him in.  
  
Confession. No, that wasn't what I prayed for.  
  
But glancing at Himeno, I didn't know if I was going to see a happy ending for Hayate either.  
  
To change the subject. There is no accounting for taste. While I carry around the latest sci-fi horror movie released with relish, Himeno and Dorothy are flipping through the romantic comedies.  
  
"Gag me ladies, but it's just horrid watching you bond over Tom Hanks." I push myself between them and try to smile cute, Himeno's almost buying it with an amused bewilderment as her mouth falls open into a smile. She just likes to be included in everything.  
  
Dorothy glowers down her nose at me. "Chow Yun Fat." She corrects, tapping the cover with one fair finger. Some brilliant DVD arranger had stuck the sap next to the subtitled.  
  
I was mistaken all along. The tulip-head kid starts laughing at my bewildered expression, part put on. Part impressed. I'd been looking for that movie. Now, how do I slip it into my hands without them noticing?  
  
I narrowly avoid two clothing stores, only for the dames to suck me into the third one. My protests unsuccessful.  
  
"I thought you were supposed to be one of the more stylish of the male gender." Dorothy teased icily.  
  
"Not automatically synonymous." I snarl, clipping each word and slipping into the chair obviously placed near the changing rooms for the boyfriend or male shopping partner. I put a Mechanics Weekly bulletin directly in front of my face, inches from my nose, pretending to read.  
  
It's funny to watch Himeno play dress up, with Dorothy standing approvingly, one slim arm draped around her waist, the other propped up to almost touch fingers to lips. Standing in a way that arches her back like an approving older sister appraising the younger. It's a cute act. You can tell Dorothy's an only child. No sisters get along that well.  
  
Then I have a peculiar insight. Like a sudden flash of brilliant warning from heaven. Except no trumpets, no heavenly choir, no burning bushes. (Although the orange skirt that Himeno's wearing clashes hideously with Himeno's hair while Dorothy's trying to think of a positive way to disapprove of it.)  
  
Pairings. Partners. Support. Each champion is only as good as his arms bearer.  
  
Somehow, Himeno found Dorothy to fill the role of a big sister. Then famous rival snuggles in with Duo's charismatic favor. And Hayate has . . .  
  
Dear Lord, Hayate . . . God help him. We're doomed.  
  
Unless I get my act together.  
  
Now.  
  
I was stone cold sober  
  
when I woke the morning after,  
  
having shattered the illusions  
  
of the object of my passions  
  
with a will made out of iron  
  
and a mind that is her own.  
  
Not that I've ever been able to do pull together when it matters.  
  
Having thought it over,  
  
I sure would like t  
  
to talk to her again.  
  
We had it coming,  
  
had it going way back then.  
  
.8 


	4. The Sound of Hello

The Sound of Hello  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I remembered to water my plants today. So I figured I should polish   
off chapter four of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful while I was thinking   
about it as well. Characters—borrowed from Pretear (watch it), X 1999 (watch it),   
Gundam Wing (you've seen that one haven't you?) and Utena (grown ups only   
please, watch it!). Keisuke, of Fushigi Yugi fame, is my darling narrator, complete   
with great quirks and terrible drawbacks. Lyrics, "The Actor" by the Moody Blues.)  
  
***  
  
The curtain rises on a scene,   
With someone chanting to be free.   
  
I fell in love for the first time in sixth grade. First crushes: when you do it right.   
When they're worth their salt. First crushes make the best memories. The hesitant,   
false starting flings, romances, dalliances since sixth grade have always ended in   
heartbreak. But the first one is kept safe by the innocence of it all and from the   
person we become after it's over.  
  
I don't have much luck in the meantime. Any infatuation I've had since then has   
ended poorly. Mostly with a week's bitter retort, a drinking binge, and being too   
dizzy to remember when yesterday was. Let alone what happened in it. And who.  
  
So what spoiled the first one? What about it makes us change, give up, forget about   
ideal love?   
  
See that's the problem. I don't think we do forget.  
  
And it's that perfection, ideal, that something wonderful that taints everything   
earthly afterward. Making even more beautiful people seem homely in the memory   
of the first.  
  
Sorata. It was Sorata. And who was the second? Sylvia. And that's why I am who   
I am.   
  
What was it that Sylvia had said? Something like,   
  
"You think no one knows you better than him?  
  
"You think you know him?  
  
"You don't know anything."  
  
She's right, of course. But Sorata was my first love. And because of that, he can do   
nothing wrong. But in order to maintain that flawlessness, we can never learn   
anything more of it than that it exists. Disguising the truth with the idyllic. And   
everything after it, a shadow.  
  
In the end, it's all pretense.   
  
The play unfolds before my eyes.   
There stands the actor who is me.   
  
So I wax philosophic for five minutes as I stand in front of the apartment door. Key   
poised. See, I'd had this revelation. This revelation that I didn't know Hayate at all.   
I didn't know much more than this: He let me steal his cereal within limits. He   
watched the news. He worked way too hard at a peculiarly ordinary road   
construction job. And . . . not much more.  
  
Even when we'd hang out at Four Door together, Hayate was always peripheral.   
Which is odd, he's a real beauty of a man. Trim, but well built. Dark blue eyes and   
that black hair combination that just smolders with inner passion. Well, at least the   
surface impression of passion. I've never seen Hayate that passionate about   
anything.  
  
I've seen him get angry. And my jaw clicks as I work it side to side. Remembering   
the sudden fury that unlocked this latest chapter in my life.   
  
Funny, I'd never seen that coming. But would I have known what signs to look for?   
I mean, Hayate is physically far beyond my wiry, slim in all the wrong places, soft   
and pudgy everywhere else, frame. His voice. His hair. His surface.   
  
Hadn't I gotten beneath the surface? No, guys don't do that naturally. Not even   
guys who think they're gay. Nope. I'm almost blaming it on my own stupidity, but   
I'm not ready to go that far yet, mind you. Paying attention to Hayate hadn't been   
my most obvious necessity. He was a swell roommate, paid his share of the bills,   
didn't smoke, drank way less than me. He didn't complain. I couldn't complain.   
Who would go digging for trouble?  
  
Except now, now I realize that what I say and do suddenly might be important.   
What I remember might make the difference.   
  
Hayate's not going to get off his ass to seek out his infatuation.   
  
I wonder if Himeno was his first love.   
  
She must have been.  
  
And while I wonder this, the door suddenly disappears and Hayate's standing there   
with it full open. Staring at me with the hyper-puzzled expression. A bit of worry   
flashing in his eyes.  
  
"You." He says, his voice. As always, seemingly under control. For the first time I   
wonder if it has as much control as I'd given it credit. I had assumed. "Are you   
going to just stand there? It's been ten minutes."  
  
The sleeping hours take us far,   
From traffic, telephones and fear.   
Put out your problems with the cat,   
Escape until about your here.   
  
You think after all of that Hayate and I would have had a big heart to heart and   
sorted out all our differences. Bonded. Grown closer. Drank hot chocolate. Giggled   
like girls until three am. But I'm pretty sure even then Hayate wouldn't let me braid   
or curl his hair.  
  
Nope. Even after philosophy 101 ended, I forgot the majority of the notes I'd taken.   
I'm a C+ student, at best. Spending most of my time trying to decipher the doodles   
in the margins and what in a lecture might have inspired them. My note taking   
habits left a lot to be desired. They still do.  
  
No. He turns back to the couch. Sits. Stares at the news that hasn't changed much   
since this morning. When I was suiting up for church and Hayate was geared up for   
some weekend landscaping.  
  
Landscaping! A hobby. A Hayate hobby. I feel a stupid smirk of triumph cross my   
features. I have one piece to the puzzle. Hayate had hobbies. I go back to my   
room and sit on the edge of my bed, suddenly furrowing my brow. What did Hayate   
do during the week? I'm predicable. He had to have patterns to, I just had never   
taken the time to pick up on his the same way I forced mine on him. Or maybe he is   
simply more observant than I am.  
  
There was the everyday and Saturday road construction that was giving his skin a   
more summer sealed color. He spent nights at home, but never resting.   
  
Except, Tuesdays. Tuesdays. There was something on Tuesdays.  
  
Okay. Enough Hayate.   
  
If I can't play the role of an arms bearer. I can be a saboteur.   
  
Even though it's Sunday night. I'm going to the Four Doors. Now that he's got an   
opportunity Duo's not going to let his new benefactor escape so easily.  
  
If I can't help Hayate, maybe I can undermine his rival.   
  
Time to go to Four Doors and drink beer.  
  
Our reasons are the same,   
But there's no one we can blame,   
For there's no where we need go,   
And the only truth we know comes so easily.   
  
"Drink it Keisuke."  
  
"I have to work tomorrow . . ." I manage to muddle the words through my lips   
which I swear are bruised and swollen. I'd been damaging that last bottle pretty   
seriously. Nursing it to last forever, giving up and ordering another. Giving it the   
same pathetic treatment. Wishing I wasn't kissing the bottle.  
  
Why, you ask?  
  
Sorata's car is working again.  
  
He's leaning across the table at me, his eyes crossing over his nose and I know that   
his sister is going to be the one driving tonight regardless that his clunker's repaired.   
Juri and Kozue are at a table across the room from us, minding their own business.   
They can be so conservative, but they're honest about their feelings.  
  
On the other hand, I toss back the last shot. In no way letting my behavior be   
conservative tonight. But my feelings? Oh God, my feelings.  
  
Sorata laughs, this time in a lower register. He's twisted his baseball cap around   
backwards for most of the evening, but now he's pulling at it with loose agitation   
from the liquor in his system. When the brim shades his eyes, he's boyish for a   
moment then extremely seductive with those shaded glances. Sorata's damn   
fortunate that I'm a coward. Then he pulls it back around, a few waves of his short   
black hair pulling through the space above the band.   
  
He's back to normal again. Laughing, almost nervously. I laugh with.  
  
"Who won?" Dorothy has crossed near our table, she's playing a solitary game of   
billiards tonight. Her usual partner apparently not seeking out their company again   
that evening. Releasing me of that mission tonight.  
  
I suppose Himeno isn't such a regular. She does do other things. I don't really   
know the kid that well.  
  
"Who won?" Sorata says, then is trying his best not to suddenly laugh again. He's   
such a charming drunk. Reminding me that I haven't had the chance to see him   
sober in a while. But I'll take what I can get.  
  
"Depends on which way you look at it." I display the many empty glasses in front of   
us. More piled in front of Sorata.   
  
Dorothy raises an eyebrow. While it settles again, her gaze drifts over to a table in   
the corner.   
  
Ah, yes. Duo and Sesame. I feel a twang of regret and forgetfulness, but they   
subside as Sorata starts telling another story about something extraordinary he'd   
seen in the past few days, and undoubtedly letting the events benefit from grand   
embellishments. His story telling astonishes me. I might have even heard this one   
before, but from his lips, in his style, each time I hear something new.  
  
The sound I have heard in your hello,   
Oh darling, you're almost part of me.   
Oh darling, you're all I'll ever see.   
  
It's Tuesday. Himeno has been scarce from the Four Doors scene. Which my lazier   
personality finds satisfying, I don't have to play interference as far as her reunion to   
any suddenly returned silvery-blond haired spokesman.  
  
I think this is the same strategy I used on high school papers. Don't write them and   
pray for an extension. The one time it worked I promised to believe in God forever.   
And once I was committed, my luck ran out. That's religion for you.  
  
The pet store had been having adoptions this week with the no-kill shelter bringing in   
different animals each day. I pleaded with Hayate several hours that Monday.   
Asking for a dog, or a cat, or even a hamster. I tried tears, pouted lips, anger and   
logic. Maybe my process was backwards. Anyway, it didn't work.  
  
I decide to eat cereal after work, sneaking into the kitchen. Finding the milk had   
somehow expired (a rare occurrence with the way Hayate usually drinks the stuff),   
and brandished my theft boldly as I cross into the living room. Where Hayate is no   
longer watching the news.  
  
The TV is still turned to the news you see. But Hayate has slipped out. His keys are   
gone. Then I remember, Tuesday. Tuesday is the mystery day.   
  
I hear his motorcycle engine revving from the parking lot and shoveling the cereal   
into my throat, where it was dry, got lodged and nearly made me choke-I grab my   
own keys and decide to play super-sleuth.  
  
For the record, stalking a motorcycle isn't all that hard. The summer sun was   
staying up later, and among all the cars, it was fairly simple to keep track of the   
solitary rider.  
  
I drive tapping the steering wheel, singing awfully to the radio. I never sing nice in   
the car, defeats the purpose. Besides, what pop stars really sing all that properly   
themselves to begin with? Miaka calls me embarrassing. I call it fun.   
  
I'm singing "watermelon" to the latest one-hit wonder I don't remember that well   
and probably never will when I pull into the campus parking. It's a junior college in   
the area. I almost leave, thinking that Hayate's taking some dull night class. Not   
that I've ever seen him working on his studies at home. Bristling with agitation at   
the thought of Hayate being a natural student, I find myself sneaking into the doors   
behind him.   
  
Standing a bit in awe of the foyer. They have an indoor water fountain. Obviously a   
terribly practical gift given by some arrogant alumnus. I'm distracting myself   
however, and almost miss seeing the corners that Hayate has slipped around ahead   
of me.   
  
Along the walls are these showcases. One side a display dedicated to some   
particular individual. Complete with those telephone like receivers you can pick up   
and listen to. The other side a row of framed artwork. With taped up printouts,   
temporarily identifying what appeared to be student work.  
  
I'm in the art building.   
  
Unable to deny myself any longer, I pick up one of the black receivers, and the   
computer screen just before my face sparkles to life. I hear the accompanying music   
play through the device at my ear. Just then a heavy tap at my opposite shoulder.  
  
Hayate. I'm caught.  
  
"Hi." I chuckle sheepishly, my lips pulling to one side in a feeble smile.  
  
"Why did you follow me?" He says, I'd guess by his expression he's a tad   
exasperated, but his tone is even.  
  
"J-ju-just curious." I say, feeling my eyebrows lift into my unruly hair, my lips still   
exposing a toothily grimaced grin. Running my fingers through that hair as my teeth   
chatter.  
  
His face twitches, losing the tenseness and almost becoming friendly again. He looks   
to the side, his dark hair waving around with the movement. He sighs, in a relieved   
manner. "Well, do you want to see my stuff?"  
  
Stuff. Stuff. He says stuff.  
  
He's a practical one man art making army. Hayate tells me he's been using the   
school supplies and art room in some sort of independent study. But I'd say he's   
almost making the place his own. I'm staring mouth open at all of his work:   
sculptures, etchings, charcoal, a carving from wood, oils on canvas, and a self-  
declared mediocre watercolor.  
  
The watercolor subject lets me close my mouth and fall onto equal footing again.  
  
"Hayate," I say, my tone drips of warning, teasing and rare understanding. "What   
are you calling this one?"  
  
His voice becomes husky, "Tulip-head."  
  
I cross my arms, studying this one longer. I'm sure that Himeno is Hayate's first   
love.   
  
This watercolor is perfect.  
  
It's such a rainy afternoon,   
No point in going anywhere.   
The sounds just drift across my room,   
I wish this feeling I could share.   
  
"No Duo?" I ask, Four Doors is pretty empty and I'm coming in late after my   
excursion to the junior college.  
  
"It's just us," her voice makes me pause, and the way she calmly tilts her head in   
the subtle lights unnerves me. She looks just like the picture. Hayate remembers   
Himeno so clearly, even though I'm certain he has not seen her in at least a year.  
  
"No Duo." Dorothy sinks another shot, and pulls back to stand up her full height.   
She's a tall woman, but I remember when her hair was still long she'd seemed taller.   
Almost elfin, but her hair is shorter now. And this evening it's pulled back into a   
severe pony tail. As severe as that is, I know that Dorothy enjoys her games with   
Himeno.  
  
I never quite understood why. Something about Himeno must be charming, but I   
just don't see it.  
  
Ayame must have. He still had her clean his home. Unless he was enticed by her   
short skirt and frilly apron black maids dress. Aya's always had a weak spot for   
costumes, and I'm fairly certain that attire isn't standard anymore. Regardless,   
Himeno is too innocent to work for anything but a straight and narrow Molly Maid-  
type of service, I'm convinced.  
  
"No Aya?" I say, dumbly running through the list of our inner circle and regulars.  
  
"No Aya," Himeno scowls at the table, she's not winning. And she doesn't really   
improve from what I've seen. I wonder if the games are more of a female co-  
dependency to escape the idiotic male gene that we men seem to release as the   
evening deepens. Aya, however, she's quite fond of. When Himeno first came she   
only came when Aya was there. Left when he seemed about to leave.  
  
I can't remember when she shuffled in to be her own regular self.  
  
It's Himeno's turn this time. I watch as she lines up her shot.   
  
"Ahem." I cough into my fist politely. She twists to look up at me, her arms still   
wrapped strangely around the stick.   
  
"Yes?" She says with friendly agitation.  
  
I tilt my head to the left, trying to make a suggestion without having to vocalize it. I   
wonder if her center of gravity is off or if her eyes are crooked. At her current angle,   
she more likely to launch the white ball into the jukebox.  
  
"Excuse me?" She's not picking up on my subtle hints, so I playfully tilt my head   
time and again until my whole body is rocking with deliberation, twisting my   
shoulders even as my hands are in my pockets, pulling my right foot off the floor.  
  
"Shift left." Dorothy says after a painful pause of Himeno shaking her head in   
bewilderment. Himeno tries, misses everything, but the jukebox is saved.  
  
Dorothy puts two down with her return to the game. She watches where the   
remaining pieces place themselves, then says, "Keisuke, there really is little benefit   
to being secretive in your suggestions. Some things are best said aloud."  
  
I act like I don't know what she's talking about. In fact, I'm not sure I do.  
  
I sit with the girls a while, and we talk about nothing much. I'm finishing one drink   
and I'm feeling fine enough. Himeno's had four vanilla cokes and I scold her. No   
one can drink that much junk and stay pixie thin forever. I warn her that even my   
food-ambitious sister is getting more voluptuous as she ages.  
  
"What's wrong with voluptuous?" Himeno wails with mock-childishness, she might   
look younger than her age, but she's a fairly clever girl. "It's better than a walking   
waif skeleton."  
  
"In all the wrong places, it's still a bad thing." I cackle, trying to ignore the insulted   
maturity from Dorothy's corner of the table.  
  
"You're a horrid big brother." Himeno pulls back from her playful attitude, to almost   
scold me herself.   
  
"I know." My head bobbing in agreement.   
  
"Is it just the two of you?"  
  
"Yup," I answer, remembering how our mother at one point, near the end of her log   
ending patience, had declared Miaka and myself sufficient punishment for her own   
horrible childhood. Mother had been very hard on herself, and us. Miaka came   
under the worst of it, as Mother tried to relive her own missed successes through a   
daughter who's ambitions couldn't have been more different. My gender guarded me   
from the more obvious conflicts. Mom had never known how to deal with her   
boyfriends, our fathers . . . let alone a son.   
  
"I'm an only child." Himeno says, twirling the straw around her latest, half-finished   
Coke. Then my father remarried and I have two sisters now."  
  
"Cute, I imagine you're a horrible big sister." I laugh with my lips wrapped around   
the same bottle I'm still drinking.  
  
"It's odd. They're his wife's daughters, not little sisters." Himeno doesn't explain.   
Dorothy seems disinterested, but that's her way of telling me to stop with this   
particular conversation or she'll tear out my guts and dry them across the sidewalk   
for making Himeno uncomfortable.   
  
"Most of us come from patchwork families these days anyway," I raise my hands   
defensively and pull away from the conversation.  
  
"Not even those that look ideal, those that suit the standard . . . not even those are   
wonderful." Himeno says, getting wiser as the evening makes us all just a bit   
sleepier. Watching as she seems to shrink around her beverage.   
  
And somewhere. Somewhere where I couldn't be, because I couldn't be everywhere.   
Somewhere, Hayate was struggling with something perfect. As Himeno pulled   
herself through everything imperfect.   
  
Our reasons are the same,   
But there's no one we can blame,   
For there's no where we need go,   
And the only truth we know comes so easily.   
  
So I decide the kid is charming. Not my sort, but pretty and not too innocent. Not   
innocent at all as I remember how she grew this quite sly grin when someone   
(probably myself) brought up Sorata.   
  
Just as long as everyone knows that he's mine.  
  
And when I come back from work that Friday in order to change and head over to   
Four Doors, there in the middle of the wall is the watercolor. And on the stand by   
the television is one of the carvings from wood. And staggered between the kitchen   
and the hallway to the bedrooms is a series of photographs. Candids. A linear   
series of pictures. Black and White.   
  
Of me.  
  
It's a tad unnerving. But I really can't complain. Hayate knows how to get my   
permission. They're pictures from last summer. Picture of me and Duo. The Four   
Doors inner circle last summer. Dorothy. Aya. Me and Sorata. Damn him. I want   
that one on the wall more than anything, and so they all stay.  
  
Hayate's just come from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips. Brushing his   
teeth. "Oh hi." He says, "Brought home some stuff."  
  
Stuff, he calls it stuff again. Doesn't he know he's a talented moron? I hate to   
admit it, but he's certainly added some character to what had been a bachelors'   
pigsty. Now it was a well decorated disaster. I glance at a pile of plates, the food on   
the top most one crusting. I decide that if it had been Hayate's inclination he could   
have mounted it on the wall and called it "After Dinner."   
  
And I would have had to let him.  
  
"Are you going to Four Doors?" Hayate asks, trying even as he speaks to keep the   
toothpaste in his mouth. It makes his lips work in a provocative manner.  
  
"Yeah," I glance around, still a bit dumbfounded.  
  
"I'll come with you." He turns immediately as if he needs to spit. And I'm sure he   
does. But I'm also sure he doesn't want to see the expression of shock on my face   
as I go into cardiac arrest.  
  
We drive separately. Heaven forbid that Hayate be a passenger in any vehicle, and   
there is no way I'm riding behind him on that machine, arms wrapped around him   
for dear life. I'm a wild boy, but I still sense a little maniac death-wish in Hayate's   
eyes.  
  
He waits for me outside the bar, seeming terribly out of place. I know he hasn't   
seen her since the day he left the bar all those months ago. Never to come back.   
Because he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to say, "hello." That day that Aya   
snuck Himeno into all of our hearts with her uneven hair and goofy grin. I was too   
thick-skulled to notice at the time of course. Or even weeks later, to realize what   
the reason for his rejection of our company.  
  
I feel a wash of power knowing that he needs me. He came because I had opened   
and accepted the part of him that wanted his perfect love.   
  
But he should have known. With my track record, I'm not the best to bring about   
the dream. To actualize that love he felt.  
  
We make it to the table, Duo's half standing in front of his chair, re-enacting what   
appears to be a bear attack even as I surely know that it isn't. Dorothy's watching   
coolly as Sorata doubles over in mirth. His laugh a charming first sound, warming   
me quite thoroughly. He turns.  
  
"Hey, Keisuke!" His hand half-raised as he twists in the chair to see me. Grin. Then   
see his eyes sparkle with amazement. "Hayate!"  
  
As Sorata hops out of his seat to welcome my wayward roommate, openly receptive   
and cheerful. I pull my eyes away from him just long enough to see Himeno blink   
rapidly. Her lips pulled into a small o. Her cheeks rosy.  
  
I've never felt the Four Doors so warm, so friendly, so much like home.   
  
It's such a rainy afternoon,   
She sits and gazes from her window.   
Her mind tries to recall his face,   
A feeling deep inside her grows.   
  
Himeno's fingers have a pretty good grip on the back of her chair as she follows us   
with her eyes. I'm buzzing with eagerness. Quite pleased with myself to have   
managed to pull such a reaction from her. To have pulled such ambition from   
Hayate. Not that I knew exactly how it come to be.  
  
"Hayate, you've met Himeno, right?" I say with poorly disguised curiousity.   
  
"Hello." Their voices mingled together in greeting.  
  
The sound I have heard in your hello,   
Oh darling, you're almost part of me.   
Oh darling, you're all I'll ever see.   
The sound I have heard in your hello,   
Oh darling, you're all I'll ever see.   
Oh darling, you're almost part of me.  
  
But like I say, best not leave a job to Keisuke Yuuki if you have any hope of doing it   
properly. And least of all, I have no experience securing a romantic endeavor. I'm   
in perpetual hope and ridiculous bliss whenever Sorata Arisugawa's around. What   
sort of role model am I?  
  
And when I don't know how to initiate love. I certainly don't know how to secure it.   
Because no sooner had I sparked Hayate's hope, I'd also successfully doused it.  
  
"Why, hello, Hayate. It has been a while." And as cool as a silver snake, with no   
further preamble, Sesame reclaims his seat and hands Himeno another vanilla coke.  
  
tbc. 


	5. Another Way to Fall

Another Way To Fall By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Okay, after a frustrating string of events, I've decided to here after spell "Sesame" the more conventional way, "Sasame." While the version of Pretear I've seen utilizes both spellings, "Sasame" seems to have the fansubbers blessing. Lyrics from the Moody Blues "After You Came." Characters are gathered from the far reaches of anime. Don't sweat it, I've picked some interesting ones. Newest characters from Himiko Den and Pretear (again), but don't worry if you haven't seen the series. I'm just borrowing them for my Alternate Universe. By the by, is anyone else sweating bullets? Suddenly, it's a very hot summer. Anyway, this chapter is a bit more Keisuke-centered.)  
  
***  
  
Since it began I've got one dream and really it's my only blessing If I can come through then so can you And you will find there's no regretting  
  
Well, what can I say?  
  
It wasn't exactly the reunion I was envisioning. To recap, I'd been knocked off my feet by Hayate's sudden interest in joining the gang at Four Doors. It was the first and most important step as far as reuniting my roommate with this girl that he knew. The girl he pined after. The girl Hayate loves.  
  
The girl that is desperately trying to make everyone comfortable.  
  
I'm sitting next to Sorata who somehow manages to be blissfully unaware of the tension around him. We've made a large crowd this evening. Sorata just on my right, he's pleasantly sober still his cheeks burn with a more reddish hue than usual next to me. Even as I'm admiring his upturned nose, I see past him to Himeno who has both of her hands wrapped around her untouched coke. And beyond her . . .  
  
We're a large crowd tonight. One person too many by my count.  
  
And one person to many by his as well, if I'm interpreting Sasame's demeanor accurately enough.  
  
We're a large table tonight, but before much conversation can get started, an unfamiliar girl is surveying our bunch with her pen balance between her teeth. She must be new.  
  
"Where's Kazuma?" Duo asks startled. "It's Friday night, isn't it? That's his night." Sorata's nodding his head.  
  
"Kazuma?" She frowns, "I'm sorry it's my first day here. And it's rather crazy." She admits, trying to be cheerful, but I'd imagine she's anything but. For a girl, she's rather dramatic looking with auburn hair pulled back into a pony tail and dark eyes. Her shirt was shoulder-less and once again I'm amazed by the combination of elastic and the defiance of gravity performed by women's clothing.  
  
"Hey, don't worry about it." Sorata's talkative as usual, smiling with his eyes almost closed, waving his hand in a dismissive way and grinning amiably, "What's your name?"  
  
I glance back up at her, she smiles at Sorata gratefully, "Imari. I wasn't quite able to make ends meet when I moved here. This seems like a nice enough place." She glanced around, as another table of old cowboys left their seats to crowd around the jukebox.  
  
"We're mostly harmless." Duo speaks up, taking an interest in her as well. "And for the record, all the drinks are on him."  
  
I blink, Duo's pointing at me. "Hey!" I cry out indignantly. "Sorata's the one here making the big money." I flip my thumb sideways passing the responsibility elsewhere. "Not me." I smile up at her, "But I can find you a great orphaned kitty-cat if you want. I work at Tortoise and the Hare. It's a pet store."  
  
"Interesting." Imari smiles hesitantly. And I don't blame her, with the crowd Four Doors usually gets, one can't tell if we're genuinely nice or simply the local losers. "And what do you do?" She redirects her eyes to Sorata, and I feel a wash of . . . something.  
  
"Me?" Sorata points at himself. Doesn't he know that people are naturally drawn to him? Why does he act surprised? I'm watching him, but torn between listening to his answer and seeing Sasame lean in towards Himeno. Himeno who's concentrating very hard on her drink.  
  
"I'm a photographer for a women's magazine." Sorata's tone has changed. Some men might not be proud of that fact, but Sorata's a true photographer and his sister's magazine is a well-respected one. I glance around, torn because I can see Hayate wilting across from me. I'd swear steam is leaking from his recently washed ears.  
  
"Really?" Our waitress taps her pen against the pad. "Which one?"  
  
I'm trying to think of something to say. Something to alleviate Hayate's heartache, cause Sasame to leave forever, and for this woman to stop talking to my Sorata.  
  
"Excuse me. I'll have a Raspberry in Velvet."  
  
My heart stops throbbing in my ears as Dorothy interrupts us.  
  
"All right, um, sure." Imari almost indistinguishably shakes her head, as if coming back to herself. "Anyone else?" She wisely lifts her eyes to the far end of the table, over shooting Sorata.  
  
"Wow, Dotty, that's rather decadent." Duo said slyly, then, "I'll have another of these." He waves the bottle he picked up at the bar when he came in.  
  
The conversation is spinning around the table, Sorata's trying to cheer up Himeno while Sasame is distracted by Duo's excited pitch as he brings up another inquiry about possible saxophone gigs.  
  
"And you're picking up the tab?" Imari makes one last, coy comment. Her eyes sparkling toward the culpable Sorata who does not have time to respond before she's off to another table.  
  
I've been doing my best What else can I do? Is there something I've missed That will help you through  
  
Between the new server sharing barbs with Sorata and the gloomy expression on Hayate's face I'm having a wonderful evening. I haven't had this much fun since Miaka melted my favorite Monty Python VHS tapes in the car.  
  
Every once and a while, I respond to a comment from Duo's end of the table. Duo's oblivious to everything. Dorothy stole Himeno away after she tasted her drink and they were waiting for the pool table again. Dorothy shooting down any men who might have meandered their direction with an icy glare before resuming her unheard conversation with the younger girl.  
  
I'm insanely trying to find something to say to Hayate, but I'm continually distracted by Sorata's sighing. Is no one happy tonight?  
  
So I made a wild attempt.  
  
"Sasame?" I almost choke as he turns toward me. His pale eyes alarmingly gentle. His features soft. He blinks slowly, as if saying 'Yes, you have my undivided attention.' "What brings you back to our area?"  
  
I can feel Hayate stiffen, he hasn't taken anything but water so far this evening. I'm surprised he hasn't bolted, but somehow Hayate's stayed planted in his seat.  
  
"Quite a bit actually." His voice is irritatingly friendly and kind, "I've been the spokesman for one of our country's ambassadors in France. But his daughter has started a campaign here in this district and requested that I come to help out. Have you heard of Sylvia Noventa?"  
  
I'm afraid that I did manage to squirt beer out my nose on that one.  
  
Sorata unhelpfully decides to answer Sasame's question. "Sylvia Noventa? Know her? Dear Lord, Keisuke's been in love with her just about forever."  
  
And did that comment make the conversation at the table stop for several uncomfortable seconds.  
  
Hayate hands me a napkin.  
  
"Sylvia?" Sasame repeats. I'd swear he's repressing with ever fiber of his well-brought-up spirit the comment, "But what are you thinking? She's so much more sophisticated than you. She's talented and beautiful. Everything you're not. Since, well, you pick fleas off stray mutts . . ." I've heard it all before.  
  
Instead, his face glows, "Amazing! I was hoping she might be able to find someone in this city to relax with. I'm always telling her that she needs to find some nice gentleman." His low-textures radio voice is stretching with understated enthusiasm. "What luck." He adds mildly, but nonetheless genuinely.  
  
Now I'm flushed and uncomfortable.  
  
The last person I want to talk about is Sylvia. And where the hell did Sorata get that dumb idea that I'm still pining after her?  
  
I have reached the top of my wall And all I've found is another way to fall  
  
I'm afraid to open my mouth again. Afraid of any other dumb coincidences, granted it's a small enough city. But for Sasame to actually work for Sylvia. I haven't thought about her in . . . well, I haven't thought about her for hours. I knew she'd taken a sincere start into politics. But for this revelation to come on the skirt-tail of all the other disasters?  
  
Duo's asking Sasame about working with Sylvia, then they're back to saxophone conversation again. Sorata's about to open his mouth. Lord, if he of all people mentions Sylvia again . . .  
  
"Let's challenge the girls to a game of pool." Hayate pushes his chair back from the table to arm's length, causing a grating noise I can hear above the jukebox clatter. Someone's playing that same country song again. I'm agitated enough to knock off every cowboy hat I see on the way to the pool table, but I follow rather meekly. Not concerning myself with Sorata at all. Not thinking about him either.  
  
Hayate steps right next to Himeno and the warm look he places down toward the back of her head completely distracts me for a moment. She senses him there and as she turns what she sees is a thinly masked, bland expression.  
  
"Hayate." She says, no quiver in her voice, but I see her pool stick tremble for a brief second. "I'd heard your name, but . . ."  
  
"Imagine seeing you here, tulip-head."  
  
Dorothy is shooing away the lingering players from the last game. Apparently, the girls had let them take a longer turn than normal. The general crowd having other things on their mind than pool tonight.  
  
"My father was sad to see you leave." She stands taller, straightening her backbone. Sparks of confidence returning to her words.  
  
"I'm sure he was sad to see you leave as well." Hayate echoes the sentiment.  
  
"It's different." Her tone accusing. "You -I, it was different. We had no idea where you had gone."  
  
"I got a better job offer, I'm sorry if my leaving hindered your father's business in anyway." Hayate is chalking up his stick, not looking at Himeno at all. I'm honestly surprised at their interaction. Listening to him talk about her, watching his eyes drift toward her, this conversation is all wrong.  
  
"Well, he got someone else to help with the gallery, if that's what you mean." Himeno shrugs.  
  
"And what are you doing these days?"  
  
I say something to Dorothy, and she answers. But my attention is still elsewhere.  
  
"I'm cleaning houses."  
  
"What?" Hayate's voice carries and Dorothy looks over at them, "You're going to school right?"  
  
"No." Himeno shrugs again, indifferent.  
  
Dorothy's says something to me. "Hmm?" I turn back to her.  
  
"Gentlemen first." She repeats, looking at me oddly.  
  
For some short time For a while you and I were joined to eternity Then we split in two back to: me and you Like the rain rising from the sea Rising from the sea We all can see what we shall be But knowing is really not controlling  
  
Dorothy and I play together. She's more polished than I am with all the practice that she's been having lately. But I managed to get a few good shots in before she takes over.  
  
I say a few stupid things, which Dorothy gracefully ignores. But to be honest, I'm stressing. Hayate and Himeno are still standing side by side, no longer talking to each other, arguing silently. But not joining in the game either, not even watching us as they're pretending. And while I'm sweating like crazy, I can feel it starting down my back, Dorothy finishes me off with one last stroke.  
  
"Damn." The curse can only release so much tension.  
  
"Not having fun?" Dorothy glances around, then starts to put another game together.  
  
"Not really." I sigh, and give her a grateful smile. It's nice to be noticed sometimes, even if that's all.  
  
"Not everyone is as attuned and caring as you are, Keisuke." She says matter-of-factly, then waves at the table, "Losers first."  
  
I smile wryly, "That would be me."  
  
Somewhere in the next game, I feel some of my good spirits return, or maybe its that fourth beer. I'm laughing again and getting Dorothy to smile at some of my less crude jokes, must mind myself in front of a lady. And that's what Dorothy is.  
  
And I'm feeling somewhat better because Hayate's managed to keep Himeno to himself for a while. I hope he's making good use of his time. Glancing back at the table, I catch Sorata looking our way. I half wave, when Imari passes between us. His eyes follow her to where she's serving a table of older men waving tips. At least someone's making good use of their time.  
  
"Keisuke," and Dorothy reminds me that I've lost again. "We don't have to keep playing."  
  
I turn back as if coming up for air after drowning in Sorata. Taking in the empty green table dumbly.  
  
"Hayate's leaving. Himeno's back at the table. I'm pretty sure that Duo's got at least three phone numbers from the business women in the corner trying out their second youth here."  
  
"At the Four Doors?" I say skeptically.  
  
"Right." Dorothy-almost-grins.  
  
"Trying to find themselves a second youth at the Four Doors?" For some reason, I'm finding that particular funny.  
  
"Why do you keep coming back here, Keisuke?" Dorothy crosses over next to me and is brushing her hair back over her shoulders, it's growing out quickly I notice. I also notice Sorata's laughing again. My ears are turning warm.  
  
"I suppose it's comfortable."  
  
"Care for something different?" She says, teasing.  
  
I turn to stare at her. I know she's not propositioning me. She's not scolding me either. I'm not sure what she's doing for me, but her clear blue eyes are in some strange way demonstrating understanding.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling under-appreciated tonight." Those eyes take a new mischievous glint. "Not that playing pool with you all night didn't seem a viable option, but I don't think anyone's going to miss us if we skip out either."  
  
I shrug. "What the heck." Hayate's slipped out without so much as a good- bye. Sorata's preoccupied.  
  
I can't really do that much damage to anything else.  
  
With time perhaps I will pass the traps and find some peace and understanding After you'd come and while you're gone You leave me guessing-It's depressing Never to know the way to go to find some time along a little less pressing So you just have to laugh When it hurts so much You're so far away and so hard to touch  
  
"Damn."  
  
And suddenly the word takes a whole new meaning.  
  
"Look like fun?" Dorothy is practically shouting at me, and I've never heard her say anything before now without her deliberate calmness. I'm sensing an incredible playfulness creeping into Dorothy's demeanor.  
  
"Where the hell have you brought me?" I'm stunned, just about three steps into an establishment called Transylvanian Concubine.  
  
"Some place for a little fun. Something ~not~ Four Doors." She grabs my hand and I'm glad because I don't think I could have moved another step if she hadn't pulled me in. Transylvanian Concubine is a nightclub much crazier than the warm Four Doors family I'm used to. I'm feeling terribly out of place in my jeans and striped shirt. I'm seeing more gravity defying clothes in one glance than I've seen in all my twenty-eight years.  
  
"It's so . . . so . . ." I stammer, my fingers almost tightening around Dorothy's. Afraid she's going to leave me. She squeezes back, comforting but not quite. Nothing about this place is comfortable. But the wildness is intoxicating as well.  
  
"What's that? I can't hear you!" Dorothy slaps away some fellow that reaches for her, pointing at me. "I'm with him." She shouts nastily. And the stranger cowers away.  
  
Yikes. I'm glad she's on my side.  
  
I can hardly hear myself think.  
  
"Do you come here often?" I attempt to talk. Dorothy grins, a smile that starts to stretch farther than I've seen her make any expression. I like it. I like her.  
  
"Only every chance I get." She laughs. Something else new and different. Had Four Doors been repressing her? Why? How?  
  
"Then why . . ." I start.  
  
"The same reason why you do." She stops me mid-thought, warning. "Now no more of that here. Let's dance!"  
  
The song switches. Songs I don't even recognize but I can certainly tell you they aren't country western.  
  
To be honest with you, dancing is not something I find very exciting. I went to a few in high school and spent most of my time with Duo trying to spike the punch while Sorata looked on. Or in the later years, was busy flirting. I'd thought that the only person I'd really want to dance with was Sorata.  
  
Of course, I had gone to a few official ballroom dances when Sylvia invited me.  
  
Sylvia. Oh God, I'd almost forgotten.  
  
But just as my thoughts turned, Dorothy reaches out and taps my chin lightly. "Earth to Keisuke, come back, roger."  
  
I'm startled by her chattiness. Watching her loosen up is causing me to pause. Then I start to find her enthusiasm contagious. Even bumping into the people next to me is rather amusing. I laugh, causing Dorothy's eyebrows to lift.  
  
"There you are. Welcome back, Keisuke."  
  
"Where'd I go?" Grinning stupidly, I'm sure.  
  
"Some place very depressing," She shakes her head, someone passes between us showing me his back, and Dorothy rather resolutely pushes him along. "But Keisuke, if you're going to help Hayate out . . . remember that whether he fails or succeeds is his own fault. Not yours."  
  
I'm feeling a bit hollowed out again, remembering. Then I feel her fingers wrapping behind my neck.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
I try.  
  
"Now, I want you to have some fun yourself. Stop trying to make everyone else happy for once." She spins around, somehow fitting right in to her surroundings, then facing me again. "I think he likes you."  
  
Something inside me freezes.  
  
Dorothy leans in again, then tilts her head back, "I think he likes you."  
  
"Who? What? Where?"  
  
"Is this journalism class?" Dorothy reaches out and pulls me out of the dancers, I'm relieved really. "Follow me." She says, flashing me teeth as I practically stumble up the stairs behind her.  
  
But somehow, I lose her fingers.  
  
And then I'm being hustled down the stairs again.  
  
"Hey gorgeous."  
  
I'm more than a little flabbergasted. It's not the first time I've heard that phrase. Duo says it all the time, but only in jest. This time I'm standing awkwardly between stairs. Back against the wall.  
  
"Um, hi." I start, taking in this newcomer, glimpsing fragments of his features as the lights from the dance floor shift across us. What the hell am I doing here? Where's Dorothy? Help.  
  
"You're new here, are you?" He leans back a bit, studying me at an angle, crossing his bare arms over a bare midriff. What sort of place has Dorothy brought me to? He chuckles, and I'm burning with embarrassment. I really don't belong here at all.  
  
I almost miss hearing him say, as if an after thought, "You are too adorable."  
  
I'm a bit taken back by that. He's leaning in. I wasn't really expecting . . .  
  
Then Dorothy saves me, "Um, hi. He's with me. Sorry. Go have fun instead, with, um, him." She points away, vaguely. Then entwines her fingers with mine.  
  
"Dorothy . . ." I say doubtfully.  
  
"Oh that? That's normal." She dismisses my alarm, "I promise you'll have fun, just stay with me this time."  
  
I can still see that guy watching me as Dorothy pulls me up the stairs.  
  
I have reached the top of my wall and all I've found is another way to fall  
  
Dorothy was more or less as good as her promise. After being accosted on the staircase, Transylvanian Concubine had already earned me more hits than all the years I'd been a patron at Four Doors. And I'm not counting men over forty. Not that there were any of them either. They seemed to like Duo better.  
  
Upstairs is much calmer. Dorothy and I have a few good laughs at the other patron's expenses. Nothing quite makes you feel better than making fun of other people. Something I wouldn't do under normal circumstances, but the atmosphere just lends itself a spirit of levity. Once I got used to the noise and the younger crowd, I notice the place had it's own style of comfort. One of bliss. Granted, it all seems a rather temporary bliss. But for a change of pace . . .  
  
"I met Duo here." Dorothy's daintily nibbling her olive. "I would come and sit up here. Pick out the best dancer and claim him for the evening. My dates hated it."  
  
I laugh sharply at that. I also realize I don't know that much about Dorothy either. I'd always seen her as rather aristocratic. This playful side of her, I wonder what harnesses it elsewhere? "I didn't know Duo came here."  
  
"It only took once for me to find him. He's a great dancer. Lousy boyfriend."  
  
"What!"  
  
"Well, some people are."  
  
"No, you dated him? For real?" I'm amused, and I'm feeling pretty good about now.  
  
"Hardly, just enough to meet you all and decide that I could use a little calmer setting from time to time."  
  
"I see." Not that I really could understand anything Dorothy does. "We all were curious why you stayed."  
  
"Well, this goddess liked the taste of the common folk. You're a charming little bunch, if often misguided."  
  
I shrug. We're near the railing and my eyes sweep across the dancers. They've been playing music for over an hour now and I haven't recognized a single song, a single dancer. Everything here is so new.  
  
"Oh, there's your boyfriend." Dorothy tips her head.  
  
She's right. The guy from the stairs is pretty easy to spot, from his extraordinarily cut clothes to the brilliant red stripe I notice standing out from his wild dark hair. Not to mention that he seems to be having a really good time.  
  
"He might be new to the area," Dorothy muses aloud, "He's a great dancer, and I've never seen him before."  
  
I don't think I could tell a great dancer from an awful one truthfully, but I must admit he does look pretty attractive.  
  
"Keisuke," Dorothy pauses, as if preparing to say something she'd meant to all along, "I think he likes you." I glance down at the handsome dancer, "No. Not him. Sorata. I know Sorata likes you, but I'm not certain that anything will ever come of it."  
  
I find that sitting still is the simplest way to react.  
  
"So I'd advise caution. And don't forget, there are probably quite a few people, like that guy down there, who might try to take advantage of a gentleman." Dorothy watches closely. She's as protective of me as she is Himeno I imagine.  
  
"I'm going to be fine." I joke. Sorata may like me, now only as a good friend. I can accept that. I have accepted that. I simply reserve the right to be miserable about it.  
  
"So do you want to do this again sometime?"  
  
"Absolutely!"  
  
Since it began I got one dream and really it's my only blessing If I can come through then so can you And you will find there's no regretting Things you want from your life's font Will never let your spirit roam Come back to earth for what it's worth For you've been dreaming of a ceiling not a home  
  
The next thing I know it's Saturday afternoon. I can hear Hayate in the shower. He must have been called in to work this morning. I didn't even hear the phone ring. In passing I wonder if he got a full night's sleep. Since he'd gone out with us.  
  
I sit bolt upright in bed.  
  
Now there's this pleasant little feeling that one has when one wakes up. A peaceful clarity of thoughts, intentions. I make up some of the best excuses for sleeping in or justifying snoozing during that time. I'm very diplomatic with myself.  
  
This morning I find myself skipping right over those excuses.  
  
Hayate had gone to Four Doors to meet Himeno. And I'd abandoned him.  
  
Holding my head I realize better that, in fact, Hayate had his moment to talk to Himeno and then had left of his own accord. Still. I should have left with him. Should have checked on him. Asked if he needed anything.  
  
Then in perfect sequence I remember Dorothy telling me to forgive myself.  
  
I hear that Hayate has escaped from the shower and he closes his bedroom door.  
  
Four hours later, I've managed to add another lunch plate to the pile in the living room, watched a made for TV movie and Hayate has yet to immerge.  
  
I decide that he's sleeping.  
  
I hope he's sleeping.  
  
I feel just awful.  
  
I've been doing my best What else can I do? Is there something I've missed That will help you through  
  
Dorothy calls. She invites me to Transylvanian Concubine again. I decline. I don't think I ever want to go to another bar again. She takes it well.  
  
I shake my head. It feels very full. Of memories in a big knotted jumble. I wonder what exactly that last drink Dorothy suggested had in it. I need to stop drinking.  
  
I can't seem to form a coherent thought.  
  
After my nap on the couch, Hayate still hasn't made an appearance.  
  
I remember what Dorothy said about Sorata and I can't help but debate if she knows anything. I manage a few superficial thoughts, such as: Just friends is fine with me. Or, there was a blasted new waitress and he fell for her just like that! I can't remember which alibi I had intended on believing.  
  
By reflex in the face of grave, personal decisions, I fall back asleep again. Hoping to reach that content moment between sleeping and waking. Staying there forever.  
  
But sleeping took me deep. And I must have slept write through the telephone call. And right through Hayate leaving. Because when I sat bolt upright again for the second time that Saturday, I was on the couch. A hastily scrawled note balanced on one clean corner of the table.  
  
~Keisuke, I've gone out. However, you've been invited to a party. Call Sasame at this number.~  
  
There is no question.  
  
Sylvia.  
  
Although, I'm a little surprised that Hayate had the poise to take the message.  
  
I have reached the top of my wall And all I've found is another way to fall 


	6. The Day We Meet Again

The Day We Meet Again By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Run away train! Run away train! I'm not sure what happened but the engine started going faster and the passengers went along for the ride and I'm on horse-back trying to keep up with it all. Here it is: Chapter 6 of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful. By now, the characters from their respective series have been replaced into my own alternate reality where they are forced to depend on each other against the forces of nature. In the end, there can be only one ultimate survivor. Wait. Well, that only goes to show, even the disclaimers are out of my control. Actually, characters that I expected to step forward are hiding themselves more thoroughly. Characters who were never meant to show up are taking over their scenes. Lyrics from the Moody Blue's song of the same title. Enjoy the chaos. I hope to have it back under control once they run out of fuel.)  
  
***  
  
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there  
  
Why don't they put air conditioning in these places? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But I'm sure that regardless of this . . . blasted . . . heat, I would be sweating anyway. I crouch, thumbs firmly pressed against my forehead. Maybe if I furrow my brow a bit more. The organ music is a bit too majestic, a bit too grand for me. If the music is overwhelming, if the priest is praying, that doesn't mean that God can't hear me, right?  
  
Hello! Keisuke Yuuki here. I need help.  
  
I haven't felt this nervous about making a phone call since the day I tried to convince myself to call Sorata and ask him if he wanted to go to the mall with me. We did it all the time. It meant absolutely nothing, except one afternoon in sixth grade that led to an unconditional realization in high school that calling him would never feel ordinary again. Ignorance is bliss? Quite right. And the famous Yuuki procrastination? Absolute misery making.  
  
After waking up, still feeling sick from the evening before. Stomach churning. It was all a bit too much.  
  
How the heck am I supposed to handle this all on my own?  
  
Call Sasame.  
  
I'm sitting back in the pew. Uncomfortable, old wooden thing. Almost as if God's telling me that nothing about this is going to be easy. Sympathy would be nice. And while those leaving the service swell toward the doors, at least fifteen old women come by to grasp my hand. Pumping enthusiastically. I'm probably the best looking guy under forty in this place. Glancing around, maybe the only guy. They love me. At least someone does.  
  
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely,   
  
I haven't seen Hayate since, well. Since Friday night. I wonder how things went with Himeno, and at the same time, do I really want to know? And here I'm calling Sasame, palms sweating like an idiot. Good grief, it's not like I'm betraying anyone just by calling. Just returning a message. Just by pressing those numbers with a familiar pattern of intonations in my ear.  
  
I'm thinking way too much about this.  
  
But it's all helping me ignore the fact, that the click on the other line is putting me just one step closer into the path of Sylvia Noventa. I haven't seen her. I haven't seen her in a while. How long has it been?  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Sasame?" I manage, my voice breaking on the first consonant. Maybe he'll just think the phone picked up oddly. Have I said anything all day? My throat feels rather full as if I'm just waking up in the middle of this telephone conversation.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Oh, I forgot." Running my fingers through my hair. Dear God, I sound like a fool. "This is Keisuke Yuuki, Duo's friend." Again! He knows who you are, idiot. He called you, remember? Then all in a rush, "I got note saying that you'd called. But I was pretty busy last night and didn't realize I needed to call you until late and I was at church this morning. So what's up?"  
  
And then he answers, in that too perfect for radio voice that almost, but not quite, makes my toes curl. I'm too anxious for that. "Well, hello. I was waiting for your call." So considerate, make me feel like a million bucks. No, he doesn't obviously do this for a living. I sit down. "Since I called, I wanted to ask you something. After you left, Friday, Duo and I were talking about the opportunities he might have to play his sax. And I'm was thinking about establishing a group, but we heard some rumors that perhaps we could supplement a fledging band instead."  
  
What the heck is he talking about? I'm so confused, I fall backwards on the couch with my knees wrapping over the armrest on the end.  
  
"Yeah, so . . ." I interject.  
  
"Well, we were wondering if you knew how to reach that Kazuma guy who used to work at Four Doors."  
  
Kazuma?!  
  
"Kazuma?" I say, sweetly. Feeling my teeth begin to grit together. What the heck does any of this have to do with our old waiter?  
  
"Apparently, he's a breaking out star. Great vocals. Part jazz, part insanity. Sounds like Duo's style, don't you agree?"  
  
I can't imagine the look on his face. Sasame is serious. Seriously asking me these incredibly unexpected and unscripted questions, "I don't know how to contact Kazuma, sorry."  
  
"That's alright," Sasame concedes, "I was just calling everyone to try to track him down. We don't even know his last name. Might have to just speak with the Four Doors staff."  
  
Is that all? I close my eyes. Oxygen in my lungs. Then exhale. "Sounds like a plan. I'll keep my ears open."  
  
"Thanks, Keisuke." Then a proper pause. "I'll see you tonight?"  
  
"Maybe, I'm not sure . . ."  
  
"No matter. I couldn't bring Sylvia with as I wanted. She was called out of town, unexpectedly."  
  
Does he not notice the silence? I can't form words.  
  
"Which means that her party, her gathering, this weekend has also been postponed. I'll still let her know I found you. We'd like you to be there. Later."  
  
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.   
  
I swear, no one in this building will be able to hear without mechanical aid by the time they turn age thirty. And for me, as I try the beer I've been waiting almost twenty minutes for, that's only a couple years away. I can't remember when I started telling people that I was twenty-eight. Technically, I have a couple months. But age doesn't seem to matter much anymore. Each year slipping by so quickly that I'm luck to match my age within a year of it.  
  
The throbbing is distracting however, and I can't think of much else except. Hand, to bottle, lift, to mouth, tilt, back head, set, down bottle. In weird meter measured to the music. And if there are vocals to this mix, they're very well disguised.  
  
Where am I? The den. The last place anyone would look for me. Completely out of routine.  
  
I'm solo at the Transylvanian Concubine.  
  
After getting off the phone with Sasame, I decided that the last thing I wanted to do was face Hayate. And there was no way I was confessing to anyone the sick feeling I had trying to return that stupid phone call. Why couldn't Hayate had told me the purpose for the call? And why did Sasame have to bring Sylvia up so casually?  
  
I wonder if she still smiles as broadly. And if she clips her hair up at the sides like a little girl, only making her blue eyes more almond shaped.  
  
"Hey, gorgeous!"  
  
I almost don't hear it. Unlike last time, I'm not as overcome by this place. It's just a big playground of fantasy to get lost in really. And I'd been doing pretty well. Even though the spell hasn't hooked me yet.  
  
"I'm not interested." I scratch the back of my neck, not looking up.  
  
"Well, if that's how you're turning down prospects," Suddenly, there's someone in the seat across from me. "No wonder you're alone tonight. What ever happened to tall, blonde and enchanting?"  
  
"Who? Oh. We're not . . ." I don't have to look up, I already realize that I've fallen into a conversation unwittingly.  
  
"Good."  
  
Why in the world is this guy bothering? How did he notice? I'm sitting all slouched over and haven't even bothered to take this jacket off, and it's way to warm inside and out to be wearing the security blanket. Still, I like feeling hidden in it.  
  
Not that he isn't drop dead gorgeous. I'm just not interested. Not interested.  
  
He's smiling a bit, not too much, but just enough to fix a sparkle in his dark eyes. And he's very dark, dark skinned, with expressive dark eyebrows that are knitting a bit perplexed under carefree and spiked black hair. And it's the same guy. I couldn't forget those red stripes shocked through either side extending out from his temples. And his fetish for shirts a bit too revealing, a bit too tight, especially around the shoulders.  
  
"This isn't your sort of place is it, sir?" The honorable title slipping out almost affectionately. By no means serious, but not mocking either.  
  
"Hey, different can be good. It's growing on me." I take another drink and decide that solitary drinking isn't always that much fun. If I brood anymore I'll sprout a pony tail and you can call me Hayate. I wonder in passing how he's doing. I haven't seen him in nearly two days. "Like this feeling that work won't be much fun tomorrow morning." I'm struggling a bit to be heard over the pounding beat. I've picked a table against the railing and the wall, able to see everything below, but likewise the most cut off from it.  
  
He's smiling again, in a way that pulls his lips back around his teeth and mostly to one side. "You could always call for the day off, let someone entertain you instead."  
  
I laugh sharply almost sputtering my drink. Now that was one of the more amusing comments I've heard in a while, groaning, "There's a thought. Like I'm really going to get an offer like that, please."  
  
"Amazing." He says vaguely, reaching out to grab my bottle and studies the label. "Alright, if it's not the girl. It must be someone pretty special for you to sit here drinking this crap."  
  
"I happen to like that crap, thank you."  
  
"Let me order you something better." We're having a little staring contest, I feel like I'm twelve the way this guy is amusing and irritating all at once. The way he says what's expected, what's perfect-just like this fairyland establishment. "Because I don't think he deserves you, letting you wander out alone like this."  
  
"He?" I laugh, challenging, "And why do you think I like boys?"  
  
He pulls his chin, in mock thoughtfulness. Then sums it up nicely, "Because I'm the right guy for you," immediately, he laughs, putting me at ease, "Who am I kidding? It's that hair of yours-a sure giveaway, sir. Sandy blond, all tousled to one side, and way too conditioned for any straight guy."  
  
Just in case you're wondering, What was really on my mind. It wasn't what you took, my love, It's what you left behind.  
  
So after work, I'm not nearly as dreading my reunion with Hayate. I keep having these funny memories from last night and how I could have a conversation that consisted of practically nothing and a few compliments. Conversation that lasted almost all night. I might have slept for three hours before my alarm went off and I was driving to Tortoise and the Hare putting as much coffee in my system as possible.  
  
Intentionally, I hadn't given him my name. And likewise, I never learned his.  
  
And next I was driving home again. All too eager to escape the rush of school kids on summer vacation. I spent more time babysitting stray children than stray pets it seems some days. They should have leash laws for junior high kids. Imagining the park signs for that, I fight back another fit of stupid laughter. I've been spontaneously bursting out like a complete ass all day. I can still see the startled look on the face of the middle-aged woman as I snorted at her comment about the limited variety of dog's conditioner.  
  
Hayate's not on the couch. The television is not on. Damn, and I had hoped all day for something normal. So I could ask in some normal sounding manner, "How are you?" and perhaps getting a semi-honest response.  
  
I'm still getting used to the artwork everywhere now. And it's only Monday night, so Hayate shouldn't have skipped out early for the junior college. Although, now that I know about that little hobby, he's been gradually bringing stuff, as he calls it, home on a regular basis. The countertop in the kitchen has a series of small ceramic figures which when set in sequence show a person cartwheeling. Very modern, had been my initial reaction. Which I had been intending to tell him to his face.  
  
If I ever see him again.  
  
I check the answering machine. First message, Miaka, apparently checking up on me, most likely for our mother's behalf. Second message, Hayate on a borrowed cell phone. Impromptu cook out at the park, come when I get in. I'm surprised Hayate went, maybe things aren't all that bad? I perk up. Things could be better than I thought. Third message,  
  
"I hope this is the answering machine for Keisuke Yuuki, but with the three minute version of the Monty Python's "Spam" song I just listened to, it must be."  
  
I know her voice. I know that tone of dismayed affection. I've been waiting to hear it ever since someone besides myself had breathed her name in public.  
  
"I was given your number. I didn't know where to find you before. I didn't want to really, but maybe it's time to catch up. Don't worry, I'm not going to pop in on you unannounced. I know how you'd hate that. But now we're in the same place, I might as well tell you how you can reach me."  
  
I play the message back at least six times before I write down her number.  
  
She's found me.  
  
And just in case you're wondering, Will it really be the same? Will it really be the same? You know we're only living for, The day we meet again.  
  
I make it to the cookout and by that time, I've managed to fix what I hope has accomplished a normal Keisuke Yuuki expression. Half-intrested, half- lost, all goofy. I wasn't sure if I could manage it or not. When . . .  
  
"Kei-kun!"  
  
I am enveloped in what can only be an Ayame Souma embrace. He has one arm wrapping all the way around my shoulder, the one in front tracing my ear and throat, pulling through my hair there with his fingers. I try to shrug him off and he holds on tighter. Damn him, if he didn't know right away that I needed this.  
  
"Don't tell me you're late because you've been seeing someone else?" Aya pouts, but I'm familiar with his teasing.  
  
"But, Aya, there isn't room in my life for anyone but you." I say playfully, filling my role in the game.  
  
I try to walk toward the smell of well-cooked steaks, Aya linking casually by our elbows. Hayate's tending the grill, although it's Duo wearing the apron as he's lounging next to Dorothy at a nearby picnic table. It's less balmy as we slip into evening at least, but the waves of heat coming from near Hayate negates that cooling of temperature.  
  
"Is this it?" I glance around.  
  
"Himeno's coming after karate." Hayate says, not looking up.  
  
"Huh? Karate?" I'm surprised I don't have to put my eyes back into their sockets. "Since when has she been in karate?" I'm trying to imagine petite Himeno breaking a practice board. Then I have an almost believable vision of her high kicking an opponent's head in. Suddenly, the reserved violence of it all suits her.  
  
"I've yet to see evidence." Aya nods, "Although, I've asked her to come clean my house wrapped in only her black belt some day."  
  
"Better question," I raise a finger, ignoring Aya's peculiar humor. "How *long* has Himeno been doing this? She's a black belt?" My voice lifts with the incredulousness of it all, loosening my lips, "Is she coordinated enough to do that?" I'm remembering all the incredibly bad plays she's managed in pool and darts.  
  
"When it comes to facing an adversary, Himeno is a pretty powerful force." Hayate's voice sounds almost fond.  
  
"And when she shows," Duo chimes in, as he and Dorothy come by to examine the source of such pleasant aromas, "and you want to try a game of outdoor volleyball, then Himeno's on your team, bud. Karate's one thing, but Himeno's still the worst player I've ever seen."  
  
Rather than fuming, Hayate actually, almost, smiles.  
  
So hold on, and don't let go Time heals, you know, I know.   
  
About the time that Himeno shows up, the steaks are mostly gone. We watch her eat, Aya keeping the conversation light. Duo keeps it going. Between the two of them, I don't think I've ever heard people talk more about absolutely anything that comes to mind. And they both managed to be very opinionated and diplomatic at the same time.  
  
"So before you ever catch me test driving that worthless model again, I'd rather nurse an antique like Keisuke's into old age and retirement." Duo's latches onto the remaining food that Himeno has rejected holding her stomach as the universal sign of fullness.  
  
"Did someone mention my name?" I say dryly, just under Aya's comment. Something about returning to the true classic age of horse drawn chariots. I think Aya just wants to see a bunch of Romans in togas. If he hasn't designed something like that for his store already.  
  
As Dorothy retrieves a volleyball from her trunk, she returns with an unexpected pair. The sunset is casting long shadows around us. Not that the air has cooled that much.  
  
"Hi," Juri smiles, glancing around and taking us all in. Then turning back to me, "I would have certainly thought Sorata would have been here. I was hoping to see my kid brother and remind him of this photo shoot that he keeps trying to postpone."  
  
"And it can't be rescheduled . . ." Kozue says in such a way that we have to try not to laugh, apparently Kozue's been well informed as to the unmet responsibilities of the younger Arisugawa. Both women have smiles too confident to be in any way wounded by the other's words. They amuse each other too well for that.  
  
"Want to play?" Duo points over his shoulder to the set volleyball net. He's fairly in bliss, I'm sure, since he constantly professes that of all women, these unobtainable two are the most beguiling.  
  
And as we discover, they also form a bulwark able to support Himeno and their unlikely team to ultimate victory.  
  
I watch as Hayate's eyes are constantly drawn to her. Knowing too well that the proximity must only be making him more intoxicated with Himeno's presence. Even as Himeno becomes coolly comfortable and maintains her distance. Both adopting their own forms of emotional protection.  
  
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there, I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.  
  
We've not spoken about it, but in the last week, Hayate has come to our circle of friends every now and again. By no means consistently, and not always for long, but I'm intrigued by his self-motivation. Whatever he's feeling is strong enough to help him endure.  
  
I wonder if it has much to do with Sasame's subsequent absences.  
  
Duo had mentioned loads of work in passing as Sasame's excuse. Which only reminded me of the long deleted message imprinted in my memory. A memory that shifted irregularly to make her sound more sweet, next more chill. Her invitation welcoming, later reluctant.  
  
If I had thought calling Sasame that first day was difficult, Sylvia's unexpected message left me much more uncertain. So I do, again, what any well raised Yuuki should do. I ignore everything that discomforts me. Time washes in and momentarily passes over those choices until I don't have to see them anymore.  
  
It also helps to have a distraction.  
  
"You again?"  
  
I can't say I'm sorry to be noticed. "I shouldn't have let Dorothy introduce me to this place. The anonymity here is impressively intoxicating."  
  
"Anonymity?" He takes his seat, and I'm first amused by the playful collar he has wrapped around his throat tonight. Always the unpredictable accessories.  
  
"Right, no one here bothers me. Except you of course." I recognize the awful cackle in my laugh that Miaka hates so much. But I can't help it. It's the sarcastic, smartass in my personality leaking through.  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself." He says lightly, but clearly intends on being taken seriously. He glances down at the dancers. "Want to dance?" He lifts one of those incredibly expressive eyebrows, a most gentle invitation.  
  
Which I immediately refuse with a shake of my head, "Not for me. Sorry."  
  
"Too bad." He leans forward as the waitress gives him his drink. She gives us a disapproving glance. Either she's annoyed that he's skipped tables and she had to track him down. Or she's annoyed that I'm monopolizing him again. Tough.  
  
I'm about to order, and I'm promptly ignored.  
  
"Shit. She's having a bad night." His eyes are overflowing with humor, immediately shrugging off her snub if, that is, he noticed it for what it was. "Did you want a drink?"  
  
"Why else would I be here?" I scoff.  
  
"Why else indeed," he says, then more quickly, "So her name is Dorothy, is it?"  
  
"Dorothy?"  
  
"You're friend, who first brought you here."  
  
"Oh, did I say that?"  
  
"Sure did," he shakes his head, amused. "I'll figure out your mysteries one of these days."  
  
And I have the sinking feeling that I'm doing something incredibly wrong by being here. Initiating something I don't want with someone I don't know. Still, I can't trust him to know that I'm simply escaping. Escaping for just a moment the luckless, loveless life I have everywhere else.  
  
Not that it doesn't hurt to feel attractive.  
  
He's just not the guy I want to be sitting with.  
  
The day we meet again, We will walk in peace,  
  
Like the shadow I was chasing When I looked, oh no, it wasn't there. Oh no, it wasn't there, It wasn't there. It wasn't there.  
  
tbc 


	7. Good Enough

Good Enough By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Chapter 7 of an ongoing crossover with characters from Pretear, Utena, Gundam Wing, X 1999 and narrated by Keisuke from Fushigi Yugi. Consequently, the story is also alternate reality-putting them in the contemporary world, most of them in their late twenties. All that being said, the characters are respectfully borrowed from their original creators. The lyrics, from Gordon Lightfoot's songs "Don't Beat Me Down" and "The Circle is Small." The details, insightful, ingenious or flawed- those I claim. Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
All it takes some times is a little brooding room and you realize what it was you were missing.  
  
I remember being in about third grade and terrorizing Miaka during a long car ride home from somewhere. My poor mother. Anyway, I'm sure Miaka was holding her own just fine, but, being oldest, the burden of responsibility was assigned to me. I was the only one promised some form of punishment when we got home.  
  
I remember being absolutely infuriated. All the way to the local DQ. So when Mom pulled in, parked and offered to buy us ice cream. I'd crossed my arms stubbornly and stayed put in the back seat.  
  
Until five minutes later, I realized she hadn't exactly ~excluded~ me from the treat.  
  
And then I learned the lesson. Whatever the ultimate outcome, take what all you can get in the meantime. Because if life is going to suck, you might as well get a free ice cream out of it.  
  
And that's why I'm driving right past the Transylvanian Concubine this night. I finally figured out what I was missing. So blue bowling shirt and awkward smile, I'm going to ignore everything else, go back to Four Doors and so to find my consolation.  
  
If Hayate shows, he might need me. While my friend is becoming more open, he's also leaving himself wildly vulnerable.  
  
And, besides, that's where Sorata should be.  
  
When I was a youth, I found the truth in the eyes of a friend. There wasn't anyone could make the light dim. And we talked and we rambled and we gambled to win, and the learning was good.  
  
Glancing around the establishment, I feel the comfort settling over me like a second skin. Not anything to make me invisible or different, just more me. The me that belonged there. Two older women were crowding the jukebox, which was playing Elvis again. Just beyond them, I could make out Dorothy's flash of pale blonde hair as she strolled around to the other side of the pool table. I didn't recognize her opponent, but apparently tonight she was open to challenges. Or Himeno wasn't there.  
  
"Hey gorgeous!"  
  
Forgive me if I almost stumble. I am used to that being Duo's line. Or even the striking stranger from the T.C. But . . .  
  
"Sorata?" I choke, still managing one foot in front of the other.  
  
"We haven't seen you in a few days. Everything okay?" His eyes, narrow, brown, are suddenly fixed on my own. Leaning in closer.  
  
"Give him some space," Duo's chuckle interferes with my astonishment. "You should be one to talk, Arisugawa. Keisuke doesn't show up for a few nights, we imagine he's drinking beers at home. You on the other hand," Duo pulls back on Sorata's shoulder and looking past our mutual friend, winks at me, "Have a bit of explaining to do yourself."  
  
"I wasn't giving Keisuke a hard time, was I?" Sorata smiles, broadly but a bit fearful of Duo's prying. His arm is draping itself around my shoulder. Corralling me to the booth they had been using, the evidence empty bottles waiting for replacement. Hmm, he smells good. Like some sort of brisk aftershave our Sorata would normally scorn.  
  
Duo glances at me skeptically, as if he can hardly believe that I'm letting Sorata off the hook. But if I keep Sorata safe, then I don't have to answer his questions either. And I don't have to hear Sorata's answers.  
  
"Small crowd?" I say taking my seat in the corner, letting Sorata bully himself in next to me with a playful shove. If I didn't know better, I'd say he had missed me.  
  
"Just us," Duo casually tips his head to the side, "and Dorothy. She's facing off with sunglasses boy tonight."  
  
"I wear my sunglasses at night . . ." Sorata starts to sing in a falsetto, and he usually has such a nice voice. I snicker.  
  
"Well dark shades or not," Duo leans forward over his crossed arms, as if letting us in on a secret and his eyes sparkle, "He's giving Dorothy a run for her money. She's so sexy under pressure."  
  
"We wouldn't know." I say solemnly, indicating Sorata and myself with a pointing finger. It's almost a relief when the waitress comes back with their second round. It takes me a moment to recognize her.  
  
"Thanks, Imari," Sorata takes his briskly and leans away from her in an exaggerated way that we all notice. The red-headed woman raises an eyebrow, then glances at me funny.  
  
"Do you want something?"  
  
"Oh, just the same." I wave at Sorata's beer. Which makes her stare at me even more. Am I missing something?  
  
"Wow." Duo breathes when Imari turns smartly and hurries back to the bar, "She's changed fast from a moment ago." Then casting a fleeting glance toward me, he accuses, "Spill, Sorata. What just happened?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sorata shrugs with an exaggerated lift of his shoulders, which he holds a moment until he realizes that Duo's not buying.  
  
"You must think we're blind." Duo's eyes opened a bit wider, "She's carrying a torch for you?"  
  
"No, no, no!" Sorata backpedals wildly, letting facts slip intentionally or not in his defense, "She just took me boating Monday night since we had some mutual friend, and she took my water skiing suggestions badly and we didn't have much in common except beer and . . ."  
  
"Well, that's all you have in common with us." I say lightly, trying to give Sorata some safe space to come back too while Duo's wolfish grin spread more thickly.  
  
"Now we know that Sorata was on a date," Duo spins his head toward me so quickly, I can hear his bones snap-I think. Sorata's protesting the terminology of "date," but Duo continues, "Where were you, Keisuke?"  
  
"At home drinking beer," I laugh, trying to seem amiable, "And I was with all of you at the picnic."  
  
"But last night and last . . ."  
  
"Scoot over."  
  
God bless Dorothy. Whatever she wants. Put it on my tab.  
  
She came in time to save me from the budding interrogation, distracting us all just as Imari set down my beer and some more colorful thing that Dorothy starts in on right away.  
  
We're all saved.  
  
I bump shoulders with Sorata now and again throughout the evening. He's still there. All is right with the world. Come what may, and all that jazz.  
  
And if powers that be take a liking to us, then we all must return to the ways of a child. We all must return to the ways of a child.  
  
Speaking of jazz, it was only a matter of time before Duo tracked down our old Four Doors buddy and initiated partnership in a musical endeavor. Which was how I ended up at Four Doors early that next Saturday.  
  
Hayate and I had been like passing ships. Although, he would smile at me now and again. I knew he'd been too busy to go to Four Doors, let alone track down Himeno. But the two evenings they did have together apparently were enough to keep him humming. I'd been caught stealing cereal twice and he hadn't even blinked. I like the more agreeable Hayate.  
  
And if that isn't enough to convince you that something was different, I wandered into the living room once to find him watching-not the news-but instead Hayate was actually laughing along to that ridiculous impromptu comedy show.  
  
So I am pretty happy stopping by Four Doors early. I wave at Sanosuke Sagara, a tall and athletic fellow, who's polishing up the sound equipment. Our friendly neighborhood bar hardly ever hosts live music because of the strange crowds that seem to gather, but since it's Duo and Kazuma they've relaxed a bit.  
  
"I've never seen Kazuma this happy before." Sano fills me in, holding back his bush of thick brown hair from his forehead with one boyish paw, "And of course, Duo's a top rate player. I might have to stick around before heading back over to Transylvania."  
  
"Transyl-where?" I say, momentarily flustered.  
  
"Transylvanian Concubine," Sano chuckles, "I'd dare say it isn't your speed, Keisuke-kun. But I typically entertain myself there on weekends. I'm helping with the stage for a band there tonight as well."  
  
"I hope people come tonight." I feel my brow tightening, hoping for Duo's first show that he should have a good turn out.  
  
"Don't worry," Sano studies his handiwork proudly, "I got to hear them warm up before I made these last changes. Word'll get around, and I'll be surprised if T.C. doesn't try to lure these musicians over there at some point."  
  
They've put away the pool table who knows where and set back the tables a bit to make way for an impromptu stage in one corner. It seems like the group is smaller tonight still, keyboard and saxophone only.  
  
I take a seat at a table in the front. Along the side, so I can lean against the pole that divides the booths against the wall. Duo must be in some backroom, ever now and again I can hear him say something excitedly.  
  
"Thanks for coming."  
  
I feel a bit of an unwelcome shiver down my spine as I hear Sasame's velvety voice slip next to me. Of course, he would be there. "Hi, of course." I say, my voice sounds helpless and sharp. I try to temper it and then sound oddly cold, "How are you?"  
  
"Nervous." He breathes a laugh, smiling warmly behind those frameless glasses he has perched on his nose. His smile is relaxing, but my body can't decide whether or not to trust him. He's very pretty to look at, but I also remember how hopeful Hayate has been. And that Hayate sees this man as some sort of rival.  
  
Not that he's ever told me why. Or how.  
  
The way he almost taps the tabletop anxiously makes me want to sympathize, almost. "Nervous is understandable for them," I wave my hand toward the last direction from which I heard Duo's chortle, "So why are you worried?"  
  
"Reflex, I guess." Sasame guards himself more closely, pulling his fingers in together. Not letting any of them reveal the pressure he apparently is feeling, "I should be used to having things taken away from me. That's probably why I said nervous."  
  
I open my mouth to say more, when I have something dangling in front of it. My eyes cross and I see that it's a well set necklace with more diamonds than I can count while it's spinning inches in front of my face.  
  
"Isn't it pretty?" I recognize Himeno's voice.  
  
"For me?" I say loudly, jokingly. Turning to see our favorite Tulip-head pout a little under that crazy hair-cut.  
  
"Please, Keisuke," She's only pretending, as she accidentally slips into a scowl and rolls her eyes. She moves to sit in the chair opposite from me, so I turn back in my seat to face her properly. She's wearing a tasteless yellow shirt with green patches on the sleeves, but when I look back at Sasame, he's melting. Something about this tomboyish woman-child has enchanted my roommate, and the spell seems to have cast itself onto the respectable Sasame as well. I hadn't seen it's handiwork so focused on the silver-haired gentleman before and found it interesting to see him so intoxicated.  
  
"Do you like it?" Sasame says, and I see that Himeno herself was not immune to charms. Almost unconsciously, her soft cheeks were turning pink under his close observation. His comment was almost too much.  
  
She nods with a murmur that meant yes, reaching back to fix the extravagant jewelry around her neck. It's a terrible contrast to her casual clothes, but her eyes are vibrantly pleased.  
  
"I'm glad you could make it."  
  
"I'm glad you asked me."  
  
I'm about to barf all over the table. Current cute behavior, or not . . . Himeno's supposed to be falling for my roommate. And what's Sasame doing calling her and making such specific invitations? I'm dreaming up some clever comment to remind everyone about my roommate, when I feel my knees turn to jelly and my heart leap to attention in my throat, choking off all comments.  
  
"Can I sit with you?"  
  
Dammit, I've got to stop having these reactions around Sorata. And he's got to stop whispering things like that into my ear. I reach up and press firmly against my ear, which still tingles and vibrates with the memory of the sensation of his breath.  
  
"Sorata!" Himeno scolds, "You shouldn't scare Keisuke like that." At least she's laughing and thinking about something else.  
  
"Aw," Sorata whines a little, and pulls up a chair so he's at the end of the table next to myself and Himeno. "I've been doing things like this for years, I'd say Keisuke's used to me by now."  
  
I wonder what would happen if I said aloud that I'll never get used to him. That he continues to amaze me every time I see him. But that's a little melodramatic, even for me. And I'd never say it when I still most assuredly mean every word.  
  
Himeno smiles happily, as if being the center of attention with a bunch of boys is an every day experience for her. Which, when I think about it, probably is true. Besides Dorothy, Aya introduced her to a group of bachelors. Clever girl. She puts one of her hands out to cover Sorata's and leans toward him holding out her necklace. So that when Sorata's examining it he's almost leaning into her chest and . . .  
  
Alright, now I'm jealous.  
  
But the snide comments in my throat are thankfully adverted again as the little ragtag group of performers come from the back room. We've come early enough to hear them warm up on the adjusted equipment, and I'm distracted from them to see Sano leaning against the bar flirting with Imari who's appeared from somewhere. There's a thought, while I'm playing matchmaker I might as well set Sano on a feisty woman like Imari and Sorata will be safely single when all is said and done.  
  
"An audience of three?" Duo sounds hurt, but his presentation is so thick we all know it's a sham, "Sasame you promised us three hundred."  
  
"Get drunk enough and your vision will multiply us into masses for ya,"  
  
Sorata laughs at his own joke as we hear Kazuma repeat, "No drinking for the performers."  
  
"Gotcha." Duo's fingers play a scale so swiftly he's done before we see him start.  
  
Kazuma's leaning over the keyboard talking to the woman playing for them. Kazuma's just a bit more than a kid. Closer to Himeno's age. Best guess, I'd say twenty-three. With impossibly blond hair that never reveals that it was dyed, the fellow is marvelously straightforward and genuinely sweet. Along with his thoughtfulness, Kazuma had an amazing memory that not only gave him perfect pitch, but back when he was our regular waiter he never had to ask what we wanted to drink. I'd always have my beer waiting for me once I arrived.  
  
The keyboardist I don't recognize. She's the kid's age, with long black hair and a chilly look. I'd say, professional or prissy. Maybe both.  
  
While they rehearse, Imari offers to get us drinks. And whatever it was he said to her, she can't seem to get back to chat again with Sanosuke soon enough.  
  
It's all right for some, but not all right for me when the one that I'm loving can't be found. The city where we live might be quite large but the circle is small, why not tell us all and then all of us will know.  
  
The crowds picked up, the music is lively, and although we can all see the shine of sweat beginning on Duo's brow, even Dorothy admits that our friend has never looked happier. Imari drops another beer in front of me and says excited, "Tips tonight are great!" Then she's off again.  
  
Sano hasn't slipped off to T.C. as quickly as he predicted, and Imari's good humor is just growing to make it a pleasant evening all around.  
  
A few of the older folks and regulars tire of the show and slip out early leaving us with a herd of strangers. But the vibrancy of it all is exciting. On the other end, a young group has started some exuberant dancing. And even when Kazuma's voice slips into a more ballad like tune, they continue to move almost like one.  
  
"Want to dance?"  
  
Himeno's not the only one caught off guard. Sorata, next to me, seems a bit caught off guard as well. We're not usually part of the dancing crowd. Sasame stands.  
  
"S-sure."  
  
I wonder what I could have said to stop them, but our cool companion has taken Himeno's hand and pulled them out of our sight in a matter of moments.  
  
"Does he like her?" Sorata says, swinging around me to take Sasame's empty seat right next to me for a better look.  
  
I don't know what to say.  
  
"Cause, I was almost certain it looked like some sort of sparks were flying between Hayate and her a few days ago. But I'm often mistaken about those sorts of things."  
  
Exactly right, I think. Remembering Sorata's rash comment about Sylvia. I haven't set him right about that yet. But he's wrapping his arm around me in a painfully brotherly way, leaning back to admire the performance and I'm not sure if I want to jeopardize moments like this.  
  
No matter what Dorothy said.  
  
"You look cozy."  
  
Speaking of Dorothy, Sorata's arm is suddenly back where it began and I'm spinning in my seat. Although it's no wonder that we didn't hear her come back to the table, since Duo's piping so strong on that saxophone right now Kazuma's stopped singing to let Duo steal the song.  
  
Next to Dorothy, who's not smiling herself but looking smug nonetheless, is my roommate. Hayate came.  
  
Damn it.  
  
I'm really wishing I had said something to someone earlier. Done something, besides debating how far I could lean into Sorata before he thought anything of it.  
  
Now wishing I could do something before Hayate saw anything of it.  
  
Too late.  
  
"So where's Himeno?"  
  
Then the glowering began. And I can't rightly say that I wasn't annoyed by it myself.  
  
Before I could gloss it over, before I could prepare him at all. Sorata had laughed aloud and pointed to the masses. That charming laugh, one short bark and I wanted to wilt as Hayate's almost smile dissolved completely. Sorata might almost achieve sensitivity, but then things like this happen . . .  
  
What amazes me still, is that Hayate didn't say anything. He didn't excuse himself to interrupt the dance. He didn't even look that way. Instead, Hayate unknowingly takes Himeno's old seat, not looking at me, and lets his wayward black hair hide his eyes again.  
  
Dummy. Does he expect me to fix everything for him? And then, I wonder if that's the problem. He doesn't expect the problem to ever get fixed. And no one, himself least of all, was expected to interfere.  
  
It's all right for some, but not all right for me when the one that I'm loving slips around. You think it's fine to do things I cannot see and you're doing it to me. Can't you see that I know how it is.  
  
After the show, after hasty congratulations and hasty good-byes, I follow Hayate's fast exit home. Reluctant to leave, and giving Sorata the excuse that I'd had a few less than Hayate and wanted to make sure he stayed in the right lane all the way home.  
  
"Call me," Sorata says, feeling my hurry and giving no further explanation. But I'm gone so quickly, I hardly have time to enjoy even that familiar invitation.  
  
I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel nervously. He has to know I'm right behind him. He's going to kill me. He's going to ask me why I didn't interfere. Why didn't I interrupt the dance myself? Why didn't I buy Himeno a string of dancers the way that Duo and I used to buy her a string of drinks and say they were from various men in the bar?  
  
And of course, I was distracted with the suddenly snuggly Sorata.  
  
It's at this point I decide slamming my head into the steering wheel isn't really helping matters, and we're close enough to home that I'll get to hear all of it right from Hayate himself.  
  
Except, as I skip up the stairs behind him and stick out a foot to catch the doors before they close and I finally close the last door behind me, panting slightly, I realize that Hayate isn't going to say anything. He isn't going to blame me, after all.  
  
He's going to blame himself.  
  
Dammit, this is bad. Martyr complex rears it's ugly head, and I, Keisuke Yuuki can't seem to ever get it to go back into it's cave by myself. I've tried before.  
  
But this time it's different.  
  
This time, Hayate's frozen in the middle of the living room staring at the wall. Staring at that watercolor.  
  
And as he falls to his knees before it, like an altar. A futile, wasted gesture.  
  
I feel tears myself.  
  
"Hayate . . ." I start, choking a little. Damn it, Hayate. Stop crying or I'll never get through this myself. "Why . . . don't let this little thing make you so upset. Hayate, stop."  
  
I reach for the lamp, to add a bit more light than the constant glow of the fish tank Hayate finally let me bring home.  
  
"Don't." He says roughly, "Don't worry about me. Stop trying to make things right for me. I don't need your help."  
  
"That's just it," I say, rather miserably, "I didn't do anything. I was distracted and I didn't think . . ."  
  
"You don't usually think much when Sorata's around." Hayate says, the bitter edge cutting.  
  
"I-I," my heart is hammering, "I don't know what to say to that."  
  
"Forget I said that." He almost takes it back, but the air is ringing thick with what he has already said. If I hadn't, if I hadn't been preoccupied, distracted. Maybe I could have prevented some of this. But if I had stopped the dancing and the flirting, what about the necklace?  
  
"I can't be everywhere at once." I say aloud, instantly wishing I could take it back. "Forget I said that." I stammer immediately.  
  
Hayate almost laughs. It's a scary sound. "We're a couple of fools, Keisuke, my boy. We just don't take what we want."  
  
"It's not that easy." I argue.  
  
"Ah, but it is." Hayate's voice turns cold, "For some people."  
  
All it takes some times is a little brooding room and you realize what it was you were missing.  
  
Whatever the ultimate outcome, take what ever you can get in the meantime.  
  
Now I've got a place, got a worried face and the question in mind. Please let me find a reason somehow. Why some reap the harvest while other men die? I've got one life to live and that's all I can give, so don't beat me down  
  
Well, it worked when Dorothy cheered me up. But for some reason, I'm having second thoughts myself, even as I eagerly encourage Hayate toward the forbidding thuds of consistent bass resounding from the doors of the entrance way to the Transylvanian Concubine.  
  
"What is this place?" Hayate says, the astonishment on his face makes me want to laugh, and that emotion is making it easier for me to hide my own nervousness.  
  
I can't believe he agreed to come.  
  
"This is where I go, when I want to disappear for a while." I explain, "It has this ability to enchant you with invisibility while you drink away your worries and nobody knows your name."  
  
"Sounds good," Hayata says with his game face on. I'm surprised again, but Hayate pushes around me to let himself in. All I have to do is follow. But if it'll make him happy, make him forget for a while . . .  
  
He's dressed for the occasion. Dark blue shirt, darker jeans. And the way that his hair swings loose until harnessed by a simple tie near the end. Some guys God just made too pretty.  
  
And he's causing a few heads to turn. I skip forward a step, trying to keep from imagining how simple I must appear next to someone like Hayate. "Hayate," I say close to his ear, trying to be heard over the music, "Let's go upstairs and get a drink or something."  
  
"Sure," Hayate shrugs, but actually smiles. The T.C. atmosphere granting him security which he seems to be accepting. I hope that means it's comforting. Just for a while. Just until he can regain some of that confidence.  
  
As we worm our way toward the staircase, I'm eager to show him my favorite perch which at a glance seems to be open, I find someone pulling on my arm. Glancing back I find the beaming face of Sanosuke Sagara.  
  
"Came to hear this band?" He tosses his hair in one direction, but with the steady movement of bodies and dancers on this floor, I can't really see the group.  
  
"I can certainly *hear* them!" I bellow, to be heard. Sano smiles around the toothpick he's chewing. It's then I notice that he's flanked by our red-headed waitress. "Imari!" I shout in greeting, smiling largely so she'll know that I'm happy to see her.  
  
"Hi." She mouths. Of course, Four Doors closes early enough for her to get a few hours in here with her new love interest if she wants to.  
  
"I brought Hayate with me." I glance around, trying to find my roommate.  
  
"There." Sanosuke points. And I turn around completely to see that Hayate's been pulled quite willingly into the dancers. He has no fewer than three girls who've taken a sudden interest in him. I cross my arms in mock disgust. Figures.  
  
Well, I figure I can at least get a few decent drinks in before rounding Hayate up and calling it an evening. A morning, I correct myself, almost giggling with relief. Let Hayate enjoy this place for a moment, then go back to Himeno with new confidence. It's all confidence.  
  
I make my way up the stairs to find my table already occupied.  
  
"Is he the one who brings you here?"  
  
"Brings me here?" I say, wonderingly. "I brought *him* here." I take a seat. Besides, what would this place be without beautiful Mr. Perfect Abs to chat with.  
  
"He's not special?" His dark brows rise with the inquiry, or perhaps he's curious about the stupid, satisfied grin that I know is inching across my face.  
  
"Not special. He's my roommate." I shrug, "I brought him here to relax a bit. He's having girl problems."  
  
"He doesn't seem to have any problems with girls." He nods toward Hayate who seems to have settled for a dance with a tall woman with curly brown hair. She seems to have a finesse to her enthusiastic movements that matches Hayate's own elegance.  
  
"I just want him to enjoy himself for a while."  
  
"How about yourself?" He had sent a waitress away for my usual drink which came with unexpected suddenness. I take it happily.  
  
"No plans." I remember Sorata's invitation wistfully, "So I'll just watch out for Hayate and usher him home whenever he's ready."  
  
I'm a bit unsettled by how fiercely this guy's looking at me, he doesn't seem angry, but . . . "What's the matter?" I ask, openly.  
  
"You're so . . . compassionate." His voice is strangely deeper than his casual tone for general teasing.  
  
"Compassionate?" I laugh, "Right, thanks." I'm caught off guard by that as well.  
  
"You, someone like you . . ." His brows are pulled together, and he looks down to the side with a serious expression rather than his typically humorous glances. The lights play off his features and reflect familiarly off the crimson stripe I can see nearest me.  
  
"Me?" I repeat, feeling somewhat silly and take a drink trying to spot Hayate.  
  
It's when I turn back that things get a bit . . . confusing. I'd just taken a swallow and was about to say . . . something. Something vague and witty and conversational, when I first notice that he's not sitting across from me. That he's not sitting. That he's right there, leaning by me. Taking his hand from the table.  
  
"What's your name?" I hear him say while his eyes are strikingly close.  
  
"Keisu-Keisuke . . ." I say almost against my will, while his fingers meet my cheek. And I can't move.  
  
Because when I close my eyes, he's kissing me.  
  
I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips.  
  
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking just like this.  
  
I can see the way you look when his name is mentioned and I die.  
  
I can watch the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you close your eyes.  
  
I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips.  
  
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this...  
  
tbc 


	8. Don't Rest Easy

Don't Rest Easy  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: How did it come to be chapter 8 so quickly? Amazing. Well, I want to thank everyone who has reading. And Kay, thanks for the review. I'd keep writing Keisuke fics just to please myself, but I'm glad someone else recognizes what a great boy he is! For the record, the cast of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful is an ensemble collected from the vast reaches of anime, but I'll try to make them accessible, familiar or not. Much underused Keisuke Yuuki from Fushigi Yugi is our unlikely narrator. Consequently, I don't have an original character in here. I'm borrowing, yup. And the lyrics, my artistic crutch, are provided by the bard Gordon Lightfoot-I owe thanks to my mother for making me listen to his music while I was growing up. This time around, his song "I'd Rather Press On" inspired my chapter. And I'm fairly impressed, chapters are still averaging a week apart. Gives ideas time to unfold. Enjoy.)  
  
Is it my imagination or is it my iron pride?  
  
I remember a conversation I had once, in which I said quite stubbornly, confidently, arrogantly, "Kissing doesn't mean anything."  
  
Who's stupid idea was kissing anyway? What was God thinking? Close your eyes, stick your faces together . . . come on kids, you'll like it. You'll like it. Stop saying things you don't mean and just touch.  
  
Perhaps I was, once again, afraid that kissing meant everything.  
  
I'm not sure if he remembers, but the first person I ever practiced kissing with was Sorata. We were fairly young, about six, if I recall correctly. We had shut ourselves away in my room. Then retreated into the closet together to hide from our mothers, who in the kitchen had no idea what their sons were plotting. Who'd have thought my chance to make a move would have been before I realized how desperately I could love my best friend?  
  
Needless to say, it's not like Sorata's given me a chance since then.  
  
Our childish kisses were rather sloppy, but simple. And this. This is simple. And as caught off guard as I feel, pressing my palm against the table top-this is perhaps, feeling something comfortable?  
  
"That's something I've wanted to do for a while." His voice is playfully close, and I know it's silly but I'm reluctant to open my eyes and see who it is speaking. Although, I know who it isn't. I know. He smells like alcohol and faintly of smoke.  
  
"Keisuke?"  
  
"Hmm?" I murmur, it's dark with my eyes closed. And as long as they stay closed, I can simply sit here. As thoughtless as possible. Which isn't like me at all. I can feel the rush of thoughts settling at the precipice. Waiting to spill over. And while my thoughtlessness might be silent, the music of the establishment is becoming louder and louder in my awareness. The seat becoming very solid beneath me.  
  
He's back in his place across the table, watching me carefully. A bit of caution on his face, but nothing remorseful. A smile easing into his dark eyes.  
  
So what do I do? I start laughing.  
  
I wonder if it matters much  
  
if time is on my side.  
  
I'd rather press on,  
  
I don't wanna rest easy, anywhere I stray,  
  
I will make it a brand new day.  
  
Anyway, that's all I've got to say.  
  
My solution for troublesome situations is two-fold. First, get smashed. Second, laugh. So I approached things backwards that night, but I managed to get both in. Which is why I'm not looking my best this morning. I haven't made it to church. I'm skipping. And this is going to throw my whole week off.  
  
Not as if my life hasn't been derailed already.  
  
I lean against the bathroom countertop and stare at myself in the partially fogged mirror for a few moments from different angles. Thinking smart ass things like how my profile from the left is just a bit more charming than from the right. Brushing my teeth twice and splattering toothpaste all over my reflection. Basically becoming a bathroom hog. Hayate's reminding me of his turn every five to ten minutes or so by rapping on the door. He's not used to having me around on Sunday mornings. I run a comb through my wet hair and wonder how I could have slept so late.  
  
God's going to get me for this one.  
  
I spent the rest of last night getting drunk, finishing one crazy beer after another until I'm sure my friend repeatedly demanded that the waitress stop coming back. It took a while and a truly threatening glare from my companion for her to give up, since I kept opening my wallet and waving green bills around. We had some good laughs. He must be a pretty good listener, since, as I've been told . . . when I'm on a mission to be intoxicated I tell some pretty crazy stories. I wonder how much of my life he knows now.  
  
Holding my head, I feel a crazy sinking in my stomach. I was kissing someone, and I don't want to know his name. I don't know who he is. I'm ready for just about anything to put it out of my mind.  
  
Deciding it's a prime day to test my tolerance for alcohol, I head for the fridge. Cold beer sounds good. It's after noon.  
  
I suppose I should count myself fortunate that I took a moment to check the answering machine.  
  
I had said I was ready for any sort of distraction. And God has a funny way of providing the most ludicrous and unwelcome situations as a solution.  
  
I'd rather be by the seaside, than be playing a one night stand.  
  
I've been too wrapped up in my own dreams, I will change things if I can.  
  
I gotta press on, don't wanna rest easy.  
  
"We make quite a pair," Hayate says, shrugging his shoulders in such a way to loosen them from within his suit jacket. "We go from one night of absolute hedonism, straight to another of pristine perfectionism."  
  
"Hedonism?" I start, as we're walking toward the manor after letting one of the valet's take my car. I'm still smarting from the hired help's comment about driving a true rusting classic, while taking my keys with a sudden snatching motion. "And you think this is perfectionism? Just wait, my boy. You haven't seen what nastiness can root itself into the elite of our society." That's my nervousness talking for you.  
  
"You just keep opening my eyes to all of these different facets of your personality." Hayate smiles, easily enough. He's along for moral support. In spite of the potential danger neither of us has mentioned.  
  
Sylvia Noventa was finally hosting her promised party, and I had been official invited. Along with a date. Which was uncommonly kind of her. Who was I going to invite? Did she expect that I would have managed to find anyone permanent for my life? No. Sylvia would know me too well. My lack of a date was only pointed out to remind me that she had tried.  
  
She had tried to be everything, for me.  
  
Which is odd, because I loved her. Strangely enough.  
  
And as much as I dread seeing her again, I know I also really want to.  
  
The first person to recognize me, tugging at his aristocratic collar which would always sit wrongly on him, calls out with a reserved voice but a twinkle in his eye. "Keisuke Yuuki. It's been a long time. How is Duo?"  
  
Heero Yuy. He had the misfortune of being born wealthy, luck had certainly played her tricks on his spirit. Because there was nothing that Heero wanted to do more than drive a racecar.  
  
"Good to see you, Heero. Duo's as always," I smile, "Are your parents still paying to put you through law school?"  
  
"Yes, sorry to say," Heero swirls his drink in one hand, putting on false airs for a moment. "Although I'm pitifully behind in my studies. I'm starting to feel awful for real because *this* semester, which is all on- line, I've truly been studying. I wonder if my father will ever give up."  
  
"I can verify the studying," says Heero's constant companion and best friend, Hilde. She's become more beautiful since I last saw her, but still soft, short and trim. Relaxing as I see her take Heero's elbow comfortably. Some things will remain consistent in this life. Some couples are just meant to always be together. I feel my face warm with pleasure. I like happy couples.  
  
And what would always make these two so perfect was their mutual façade of fancy clothes and mutual love for all things motor oil and grease. Forgetting, of course, the little mix up years ago, when I thought that Hilde was Heero's little brother.  
  
"And your friend is?" Hilde reminds me, politely, but with a wicked smile on her face.  
  
"Dear God, no," I stammer, her subtle suggestion dawning on me, "This is my roommate, Hayate. Hayate, this would be Heero and Hilde. Duo met Heero in some sort of intramurals, so we became acquainted."  
  
While they shake hands, I realize how similar Hayate and Heero might be. Except that Heero had found his peace by forging a straightforward commitment to his passions, including Hilde. If only Hayate wasn't so shy.  
  
"Sylvia's around here somewhere." Heero says, taking a drink. His dark blue eyes glancing around the other guests but not finding our host. The room where we've gathered in mostly red woods, polished and shining in the light of the chandelier. Everyone dressed comfortably, but shining in their own ways. I feel a bit out of place in my best church clothes. But I should be used to it. This vague uncertainty was how I always felt visiting Sylvia.  
  
"You really work in construction?" Hilde eyes my roommate with new wonder, her mouth dropping open and she tugs on Heero's arm to gain his attention as well, "I just love men who aren't afraid to get a little dirty."  
  
"He's also an artist, and filthy rich." I lean in coyly and add in a stage whisper.  
  
Hayate flinches, but he's feeling at ease with these passing friends of mine. Hilde has a way of making everyone feel as if they're the most interesting person in the universe. She gets excited about everything. That's probably why Heero likes her, she always gives him the best perspective on things.  
  
"Rich?" Heero repeats.  
  
"An artist?" Hilde laughs, "What do you do?"  
  
"Stuff."  
  
I wander away a little, letting Hayate happily be at the center of their attention. Somehow being back in this circle feels unnatural and yet familiar. I lean against the back of one of the red upholstered chairs near the large window facing the gardens. The silver haired woman glances up at me and smiles. I smile back.  
  
"You're little Keisuke Yuki, aren't you?"  
  
"That's right." I wish I could remember her, but I don't. Do I know her? She takes one of her arms and crossing it over her chest reaches up to stroke my hand where it's curled around the back of the seat.  
  
"It's been a long time since you've come to see us. I remember when you and Sylvia would visit her grandmother before she passed away."  
  
Then I remember. The visits to see Mrs. Noventa, Sylvia's father's mother, after her grandfather had died unexpectedly. Reading to her in the library, listening to Sylvia read to her. I read so many books aloud that summer. And upon occasion, being joined by Sylvia's great aunt.  
  
The woman who's beaming at me with those clear blue eyes of the elderly that seem to still see everything with such perception that goes beyond simple sight.  
  
"Yuuki."  
  
Everyone's recognizing me, but this voice I do remember.  
  
"Hajime." Sylvia's great aunt puts a small amount of pressure around my fingers, before returning her weathered hand into her lap.  
  
"Aunt." He says formally, and I admire how his coldness has a milder flame toward his aged relative. Dressed smartly in his military uniform, Hajime Saitou, I notice with passing intrigue, still smells sharp of cigarette smoke. He must have just come from the outside then, because his step- father would never allow smoking indoors. He turns his narrow eyes toward me, appraisingly. I'm sure he's taking in my rumpled, light tan suit and unruly hair, badly in need of a trim. I am always just a little under par when it comes to good grooming.  
  
"Hello, Saitou." Sylvia's half-brother is the only person I find more comfortable when referring to him by his last name. Not to remind him that his mother had entered the marriage after his birth into a different surname, but because this man deserved respect. That, and he could kick my butt if I provoked him with untoward familiarity.  
  
And he started it. No one else calls me "Yuuki."  
  
Regardless of parentage, it seems inevitable that this family would either dedicate their careers to the armed forces or politics. While Saitou had followed his adopted grandfather's legacy of service, Sylvia had been impressed with her father's ideals for government.  
  
She had always been very forthcoming with her opinions, and often had tried to bully me into having them as well. Defying my own family's more passive tendencies. I will never understand what she saw in me. They say that opposites attract.  
  
The way that Saitou's gaze remains cool, I realize he has not forgiven me for leaving Sylvia. But that is the way a proper brother should behave, I wouldn't expect otherwise.  
  
"Tisk, Hajime. You reek of smoke. Couldn't you have waited for an hour or two before indulging in that habit of yours?"  
  
Then she's at his side. And I find her . . . overwhelming.  
  
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to the women  
  
and the wine and all of the sunshine that we knew?  
  
You will never know what blue is until you have played the game,  
  
till you live life in solitaire where no one knows your name.  
  
I'd rather press on, I don't want to rest easy.  
  
With Sorata, I can pinpoint moments. Days. Feelings. Exacts.  
  
I remember escaping into the closet and in my dreams recall how he tasted like chocolate popsicles. I remember walking home with him one day in sixth grade and as he took a step in front of me I had been allured by the way his ball cap was twisted to cover his neck, and how the ends of his dark hair almost curled. And I was in love. And the day in high school that I tried to call him, tried for hours. Just to ask him to hang out for the afternoon. And realizing that any time spent with him was too special to approach with such casualness. I remember how he smelled like unusual aftershave just last night.  
  
Every moment with him secured into the walls of my memory with color-coded push pins.  
  
On the other hand, Sylvia is like forgetting. Or being dazzled. I can't remember meeting her, or when we started dating. I'm not certain if I kissed her, or if I had liked it. I have impressions of eating, reading, sitting, talking. Daily things done together.  
  
Every time I see her, it's as if it were for the first time. Waking again to ask, "And your name is?"  
  
"Good of you to come, Keisuke." She says my name gingerly, almost as if she's out of practice with those particular syllables put in that particular order. She stretches out her arm, honey gold hair pulled back into an elegant pony-tail. Her blues eyes striking. Friendly.  
  
I shake her hand.  
  
I'm glad to see her. So I say so.  
  
That seems terribly understated.  
  
"How have you been?" She tips her head forward just slightly, with genuine interest. But I'm puzzling over the sophisticated grace I'm seeing. Was she always like this? So, Gwenyth Paltrow? So charming?  
  
"The same," I grin sheepishly, bewildered. "Still at the pet store, still following Duo around Four Doors."  
  
"Duo?" She lifts her eyebrows, smiling and something like teasing flickers in her eyes, "I don't remember you chasing Duo. If I recall . . ."  
  
But the panic I feel as she starts to mention things I'd rather not hear her say aloud, or here of all places, is gone when she never finishes. She instead turns to her great-aunt and says instead, "Auntie, you do remember Keisuke, don't you? He came with me a few summers ago to read all those Dickens novels to you and Grandma. We called him Pip remember?"  
  
Her aunts nods and smiles at me.  
  
Pip? They called me Pip? I have a fuzzy recollection, and feel the same general uncertainty that seems to cloud everything just then.  
  
What day is it?  
  
Where am I?  
  
Sylvia is introducing herself to Hayate. Hilde tells jokes. Everyone laughs. As the evening comes, we go out into the garden for the late summer sunset and Saitou smokes openly there.  
  
And then the flavor of the fresh scent causes me to snap from my building trance-like state.  
  
I remember dark eyes close, finger against my cheek. His kiss and then his lips tasting lightly of smoke. The reflexive shudder purges some of the automatic memory. Of all place for the Transylvanian Concubine, no . . . of all places for him to follow me.  
  
Naturally, as I glance over, everyone is staring at me.  
  
"Keisuke?"  
  
"What, sorry?" I grin half-way as a dopey apology. Caught daydreaming.  
  
Have it anyway you will, I will be with you  
  
right up until the spell is broken and all is well.  
  
If you'd rather be by the seashore, well, I sure can understand.  
  
Are you too wrapped up in your own scene? I would change things if I can.  
  
I'd rather press on, don't wanna rest easy.  
  
"Come to the races next weekend. Heero's in some of the first sprints." Hilde's tone isn't accepting excuses. And, bless him, Hayate even looks eager to agree to the invitation.  
  
"You need to see my car." Heero nods, grasping Hayate's arm in farewell in an almost brotherly manner. I continue to inch toward my car which is waiting. The valet twirling my keys around his finger and I want them back . . . now.  
  
Most everyone has left. Near the end, Sylvia disappeared to make her proper rounds to everyone attending. Tonight she was entertaining, but the diplomatic Sylvia was still performing her duties as expected.  
  
"Are you all leaving me?" Sylvia says lightly, humor dancing around the complaint. "If you insist." She kisses Hilde's cheek, and taps Heero's chin with affection. They incline toward Hilde's Jaguar which is more polished than any car I've seen before. I can just imagine them stroking it down together. They are a strange pair I'll never get used to and never fail to be happy for.  
  
"Hayate, it was a pleasure." She shakes his hand, and they study each other for a moment long than I expect.  
  
Hayate opens the passenger door and hovers for just a moment. It meant almost more for him to allow me to do the driving. Hayate doesn't manage co-pilot status very well. I'll have to make it up for him.  
  
And I have an idea how.  
  
"Keisuke," she starts, and suddenly I know I haven't done her any justice by simply coming to her party. Reminding her family of the days I had been there, and the days after I left. Putting her in that position when she was least able to react as openly as she might want to, need to. If she had to.  
  
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."  
  
"Stop apologizing." She says sternly, her blue eyes narrowing not unlike her half-brother. "You don't change, do you?" Without hesitation she adds, "And how is Sorata?"  
  
I don't wince, I owe her this at least. "He's exactly the same. Everything is exactly the same."  
  
"To be expected," Sylvia shakes her head, and if I read her expression correctly, she's allowing me a look of muted affection. "You are such a doormat, you know that? But are you happy? Happy now?"  
  
"I suppose." I go from compassionate to being appraised as a doormat in the matter of twenty-four hours. Let it not be said I am not versatile. Or, I suppose there is more than one way of looking at it. I know that I believe Sylvia. "We should . . ."  
  
"I'd like to see you again."  
  
I almost laugh in relief, "Okay. Yes. This was a little stressful."  
  
"For me too." She laughs, then covers her mouth with one hand to cover how enthusiastic it had been. Watching that movement feels so familiar.  
  
"And I need to ask you some questions." I add.  
  
"About?" She's listening closely now.  
  
"About your new assistant, for starters. I want to know more about Henry Feist, Sasame."  
  
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to all of the sunshine that we knew?  
  
But remembering the rhythm and the rhymes and all of the good times makes me blue.  
  
Wouldn't it feel fine?  
  
tbc 


	9. Isn't Life Strange

Isn't Life Strange by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Well, after taking a little tangent with Human Behavior, I've returned to give Keisuke his turn again. Between the tangle of mismatched anime characters are lyrics to some Moody Blues songs. I use the lyrics as an artistic crutch honestly. They give me slivers of inspiration, but, if you asked me, I'm not sure I could pinpoint any specific connections beyond that. Chapter Nine, my gosh, already? This was actually pretty hard to write, but afterwards of course I had all these ideas bouncing around. More to come, meanwhile-enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
Isn't life strange  
  
A turn of the page  
  
Can read like before  
  
Can we ask for more?  
  
Each day passes by  
  
How hard will man try?  
  
The sea will not wait  
  
***  
  
Objection.  
  
It's not something that I have to face very often. At the worst, someone frowns or raises an eyebrow. They over speak whatever might have been offending. For the most part, I'm used to others ignoring those parts of me they might not approve of.  
  
Miaka had actually used the word once while I was in high school I had taken the last of the Ramen noodles and Mom had forgotten to make any dinner for us that night. While I was busy stuffing as much of that rubbish into my mouth as possible, Miaka had stomped her foot and pointed one finger toward the ceiling, arm completely stretched out. Of course, I didn't react to it very well then either. Nearly choking on the slimy food as it lodged partway between my throat and my mouth.  
  
Were all of my collected objections from women? If I remember one thing of Sylvia with the utmost concreteness, it would be her final expulsion of deeply hidden and truthful opinion, "You don't know anything."  
  
So why am I thinking about that now?  
  
Quite simple really, this woman in front of me is insisting that I didn't listen to her. She orders a special diet for her Pekinese and because some inspired designer in need of an extra paycheck decides to change the color of the label I'm getting an earful.  
  
"Mrs. Ebb, let me reassure you the product is exactly the same." I repeat myself feebly, alternating between trying to stay as far away from her as possible and leaning in to try and point out parts of the packaging that are similar. "We wouldn't order anything but what you wanted." I try to adjust my tactics.  
  
"Objection!" She snaps properly through fuchsia lips. Fuchsia, I haven't seen that color in a while. It matches her pink shirt in an interesting way and I wonder if she thinks the shades are the same or if she means for them to off set each other in such striking ways.  
  
Truth be told, I'm as close to losing my temper as I've come. Except that one time that Miaka told Mom about Sorata's shirt I hadn't returned. Of course, Mom made me take it back as soon as she knew. And I'd gotten to bicycle over to his house for the better part of the rest of the evening. But Miaka had known I meant to ~keep~ that shirt. I wouldn't have minded as much except that it happened the same night that I'd stolen the last of the Ramen.  
  
Who says "objection" anymore these days? It's certainly a harbinger of bad things to come.  
  
Damn, and it's only Monday.  
  
*** Isn't life strange  
  
A word we arrange  
  
With no thought or care  
  
Maker of despair  
  
Each breath that we breathe  
  
With love we must weave  
  
To make us as one ***  
  
"Keisuke," It's Hayate calling me from the living room. He's lounging on the couch, looking almost relaxed. More relaxed than I've seen him lately. But something's wrong. He has both of his overgrown feet balanced on the far arm rest and has himself spread out the rest of the way until I cross around and can see his face, hidden underneath the better part of his arm.  
  
"Are you alright?" I ask, a bit nastily. My voice taking a bit more of a high-pitched whine to it. I suppose I'm still annoyed from the confrontation with Mrs. Ebb. She'd guaranteed me that she's only going to mainstream pet stores from now on and that supposedly family run stores like ours are lacking in sophistication. We'll see if Petco's special diets look any different.  
  
"Thanks for asking," Hayate moans. Hmm, that's different. "I'm feeling like shit and I was wondering if you had any advil?"  
  
"Ibuprofin?"  
  
"Tylenol, I don't care."  
  
I hate acting like his wife. But I try to remember his charity at Sylvia's party as I go to fill a glass with water, before he has to ask. It is my turn, and I'm not completely heartless.  
  
"Here," I hand him the glass and more pills than he really needs. He scowls at me, squinting and I can see the strain around his eyes. I cross to sit in my chair, somehow he's permanently claimed the beat up couch, leaving me with the orange recliner. I reach up to turn out the light and we're sitting in relative darkness. I can hear him sigh with a bit of relief. Swallowing noisily for a moment, then setting down the now empty glass, almost dropping it. He keeps it from falling over, and lets the extra pills spill across the coffee table.  
  
The only light now the blue green glow of the fish tank.  
  
"I feel like I have someone beating my skull with drum sticks." Hayate murmurs between his teeth, I almost don't catch some of the words.  
  
"I guess you're not going out tonight."  
  
"It's after nine, no." Hayate laughs hoarsely, "Oh, any my head hurts."  
  
"Maybe you have sunstroke!" I say enthusiastically. Sitting together in the near darkness like this feels strange. And vulnerable, so we've put on our sarcastic faces tonight I guess.  
  
But apparently Hayate didn't get that memo, he continues, whispering. "Something's wrong with me, that's for sure."  
  
"You mean that little thing of you turning coward whenever that Sasame guy puts the moves on Himeno?" If he's opening the door, I'll follow him.  
  
"You don't get it yet, Keisuke?"  
  
"What, that you're not even trying to get your girl? And it seems like the two of you go way back. You *worked* for her dad, Hayate." If he's going to use my name against me, I can use his. It's sort of funny that everything extra I know about Hayate at this point has been learned by eavesdropping for the most part.  
  
"It's not that I don't want to be with her. It's just that I . . ."  
  
"Dear God, you're pathetic." But as soon as I say it, I wish I hadn't interrupted. Because he clams up tighter than Dorothy's lips when Duo starts irrationally smashing glasses.  
  
"You're leaving yourself wide open with that one." And now he annoys me because he's gracefully sidestepping the old argument I've invited. "Don't talk so loudly . . ."  
  
"I guess I'm bad at pep talks." I shudder, remembering once when I'd tried to patch Miaka and her boyfriend back together. It had worked then, but in order to encourage Hayate now I have to believe again that love does conquer all. That love was something, the only thing, guaranteed in our lives. While I might not be as quick to consol Hayate now that I've got a few years under my belt, I can still blush at how beautifully cliché my feelings can be. Can still be. When I daydream about the right guy. "But I understand how you feel."  
  
"I know you do."  
  
*** Isn't life strange  
  
A turn of a page  
  
A book without light  
  
Unless with love we write;  
  
To throw it away  
  
To lose just a day  
  
The quicksand of time ***  
  
Neither of us made it out until that Friday. Hayate missed his first days of work. The headache seemed the precipitation of something a bit more vicious attacking his health. I played nurse-maid with a great deal of more willingness than I had the first night. Handing out vitamins and Halls, Kleenex and even managed to get manly Hayate to try one cup of herbal tea when doused with enough honey to make it bearable. I promised him that once he was healthy enough to defend himself, I wasn't going to let him live that fact down.  
  
I sort of reveled in getting to play doctor, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let Hayate know that.  
  
"Hayate!" Duo lights up as my roommate sits down. We've come early to Four Doors with the idea that we would leave earlier also. Not that it factored in terribly much, but Heero's sprints were the first exhibition of Saturday's race. Duo apparently had been playing solitaire and began pulling the cards in toward himself as we sat down. "Keisuke's been giving us updates, and it appears once again that the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated."  
  
"Not so," Hayate half-grinned in what he must have considered his attempt at humor. Oh boy, he must be feeling better to sound so lame. And we must have been spending too much time in close quarters for me to be this ungracious toward him.  
  
Tempering myself, I turn to Duo, "All by yourself tonight?"  
  
"So far." Duo shrugged, "And most of this whole week."  
  
"What are you saying?" I start to laugh, "Don't you have better things to do than to come here every night?"  
  
"Well, I suppose . . . since I've been coming here just long enough to hook up with Kazuma and go over a few things." Duo began to rub his hands on either side of his beer like he were rolling a gigantic cigarette, "His girlfriend apparently has had it with Kazuma's new band obsession and we're meeting in secret for a while until she calms down."  
  
"Girlfriend?"  
  
"Yeah, the self-centered trim girl who played the keyboard last weekend." Duo notes our nodding, "Kazuma says she just doesn't take very well to new things and in a few weeks she'll be back to normal."  
  
"Especially if she's going to be your keyboardist." I shake my head.  
  
"Tell me about it." Duo glances over my far shoulder and I turn to see Imari hovering by us. She has her thick red hair pulled back again, but this time she's a bit more modestly dressed than I've seen her last. "Hey, Imari, no date tonight huh?" He leans over into Hayate speaking in a stage whisper. "I was just telling her that outfit screams 'hands off I'm taken' just earlier."  
  
Imari shifts from one foot to another, apparently a bit flustered and trying to decide if it was worth losing her cool over. Apparently someone else's personality was rubbing off on her as she said roguishly, "And apparently the message has worked, hasn't it?" She tosses her head and goes off to help someone else.  
  
"I hope she knows what we want." Hayate twists in his seat to see her talking to another table of older cowboys.  
  
"Imari'll know." Duo brushes my roommate's concern aside, "She's seeing that foppish handyman that helps set up our music."  
  
"Sano?" I feel my spirits lift. "That's good news." If Imari's blissfully happy in love, then all is right with the rest of the universe again.  
  
"She's not the only one with good news." Duo watches me pointedly, "I suppose you've heard from Sorata?"  
  
My lower lip slips away from the upper one as my jaw loosens. Thankfully, Hayate wants to be a junior ventriloquist, I hear my question come from his voice, "No, we haven't. What's up?"  
  
"You remember that fortune old Scharmie gave Sorata when we were kids and stole Juri's car for a weekend trip?" Duo's still talking and I'm remembering rather perfectly the wildness of that experience. Duo had just transferred in and stolen our imaginations away with his crazy antics and schemes. That was where Duo had heard a live sax performer and found his dream. Then a pretty prostitute that told us stories about her life none of us would forget had rescued the three of us from a flat tire. And as we finally rolled through a small town on our way home, we'd decided to stop at a shady looking old whole of a shack that had darkly drawn curtains and a sign reading "fortunes."  
  
"About the Asian woman that would shred his heart to pieces like a Samarai?" I raise an eyebrow. Madam Scharmie had coaxed us one by one into her back room which was separated only by a dark curtain with golden suns and moons dotting it. Of course, we had been able to hear everything in spite of the appearance of confidentiality.  
  
"What's this?" Hayate encourages, intrigued.  
  
"Bingo." Duo snaps a finger at me like a gun and clicks his tongue.  
  
"So?" I'm feeling a little dense, or I don't want to guess.  
  
"I'm going to let him tell you, Keisuke. But I don't think you're really going to like it," Duo almost looks sympathetic until Hayate persists with his questioning. I hardly have time to react, but I have a feeling that Duo's trying to give me a friendly warning.  
  
"She told me I was going to die at the age twenty-four of a hideous contraction of my small intestines." Duo chortles, his brown bangs vibrating with belly laughs. Apparently, Duo's fondness for the memories of that weekend are as strong as my own.  
  
"What did she tell you?" Hayate turns to me, his blue eyes amused flashing darkly. It reminds me of the nature music that Scharmie had playing in some hidden corner of her back room. I had been the last of us to pass her curtains and had nearly knocked the wind out of myself from walking into the chair she intended for me to sit in. Recovering, and holding by stomach in sympathy, I had let her take my other hand.  
  
Studying my palm, she traced the lines with the edge of her finger's nail. Strangely violating even though she was only holding my hand. The edge of her sleeve brushing against the table top. The only light, an internal glow from the crystal ball she neglected. She mumbled to herself, the low chanting voice I had only heard from outside before, this time they were recognizable words. "Two loves, no real interest in women." She had peered at me a moment in the near darkness and hummed and hawed to herself a bit more. "You will have no real success in your job. Loneliness." I had never been that impressed with my hands before, that evening I certainly wasn't.  
  
"From the objected, you will learn of sacrifice, truth and love."  
  
"Objected?" Hayate laughs, almost snorting his drink that Imari brought us just before. "Not rejected? Not neglected or subjected?" Duo joins in, apparently he can't help himself either. I sit across from them patiently. The giggling fit would subside after they recovered from missing each other's company.  
  
I needn't point out that while Madam Scharmie was classic she was far from reliable. Duo at twenty-eight had long exceeded his expiration date.  
  
*** Just in a simple conversation  
  
You can hear the feeling change  
  
Like a river running down  
  
Down to the sea  
  
And if you need an explanation  
  
I defy you to explain  
  
But something's not the same  
  
And it's bothering me ***  
  
So I've become a little uneasy. It's been a rough week. After nursing Hayate back to his health it felt like we both immerged from beneath the surface of an oil spill in order to find the rig itself had sailed past us. Losing touch with the gang had never seemed so important before. But now each day took us farther away from where we wanted to be or even from where we were.  
  
Oddly enough, I feel as if I'm being pulled elsewhere. It started when Hilde called Saturday morning. Hayate and I had managed to convince Duo to retire from Four Doors at a reasonable hour and after sleeping soundly, her wake up call wasn't as nearly as annoying as it could have been.  
  
Her voice, so characteristically enthusiastic, cracked a little as she proudly commented about how Heero's times behind the wheel were earning him some real recognition. I don't know about that, but with Hilde cheering him along, Heero might just be able to accomplish anything. I remember the way they share entire thoughts with a familiar glance or with a shake of their similarly trimmed short hair. Remember me mentioning how I'd mistaken them for siblings? It's really peculiar, but they have the same high angled nose and Prussian blue eyes and dark, dark hair that they keep cut short. In some cases, opposites attract, but those two were peas of the same pod.  
  
"So what time are you going to be there?"  
  
"We figured we'd leave by about four." I cast a glance toward Hayate's closed door. I suspect he's going to sleep away most of the day. You wouldn't know it for looking at him, but Hayate covets his sleep much more than the average person. "If I can get Hayate out of bed . . ."  
  
"Keisuke, you have to!" Hilde's voice lifts a pitch, she usually has a rather sultry voice, so the change is dramatic and playful. Unexpected for how petite she is. I can just imagine her now taking the phone in both hands and glaring into it. With Hilde there is no silence, she's always cooing or making sounds in her throat. Filling the space with comfortableness that I admire.  
  
"No worries." I chuckle, pacing the apartment in my socks. Shuffling. Honestly, I'm a little restless. I couldn't help wondering about Himeno. And wondering what was behind Hayate's reluctance.  
  
"Later then." Hilde's tone cheerful again, "I've got to go drag Mr. Yuy's butt out of bed myself."  
  
I tend to get a great deal done on Saturday mornings. I look at the garbage and consider taking it out. I open the dishwasher and check to make sure it's full. The sink sure is. I glance in the refrigerator and consider the many tupper wears that have been in there just a bit too long. Months. The spaghetti sauce in the back was Saionji's if that tells you anything. I wonder how far back in the storage closet the vacuum has gotten itself. And if we ever did put it together. Perhaps if I simply take a shower, that'll be enough to rinse out the tub. Ultimately, I make my way to the living room. Scoot the opened and unopened bills from the recliner onto the coffee table corner not littered by dishes and sit.  
  
Then I watch cartoons.  
  
Hayate still hasn't made an appearance by the next time the phone rings. I don't want to answer it, since most likely it's that horrid telephone company that thinks I need to switch over to them. That and I'm starting to get hungry.  
  
"Hey, Keisuke, want to get something to eat?"  
  
"You've read my mind." Thud. Well, if it isn't Sorata coming to my rescue. I haven't seen him in a week. "Duo said you had some news."  
  
He's quiet a moment. Nothing quite like silence on the phone to make you really uncomfortable. It's empty space while you stand alone in one room while someone else is standing somewhere else doing who knows what, except talking of course. But it's only a moment, "He doesn't know the half of it." Sorata's still speaking lightly, but a new grave Sorata has taken his place noticeably. "But this isn't something you can talk about on the phone. Do you want to meet at that particular time, in that particular place?"  
  
He's teasing me. Whenever I'm overly nervous, I can tend to get vague. Proper pronouns and clear descriptions completely escape me. If Sorata's saying that, he's not nervous. He's serious.  
  
It's my turn to be overly quiet. Then I realize that this might be that moment I was always trying to be ready for. The moment when I have to either object, or . . . or something else.  
  
"You don't mean? You haven't? You are?" I surprise myself. The light glee, the friendly inquisition-somehow I manage it. My hopes re-knitting themselves into self-acceptance. I can handle this. I can be supportive. I will never be given the opportunity to be anything else. "You're pregnant?  
  
"How did you guess?" His relief is obvious as the Sorata voice I've come to love returns. "But honestly, Keisuke . . ." The strange pause again. Why doesn't he just say it?  
  
Or can't he? Does he really need my permission? If I can give him anything, it's that.  
  
"You've found the girl of your dreams, haven't you?" I coax, loving his uncertainty more than anything else I've loved in this world. More than my autographed picture of David Duchovny. Well of course, this is Sorata. I love him more than anything.  
  
"She's more than I ever expected."  
  
*** You know it makes me want to cry, cry, cry-  
  
Wished I could be in your heart  
  
To be one with your love  
  
Wished I could be in your eyes  
  
Looking back there you were, and here we are. ***  
  
I meant for this to be longer, then I decided to break it up into two chapters instead. I've been quite surprised with the direction my characters have taken lately, I'll just trust and follow it a ways if I can. And if you can't tell by this chapter, I really want to write a pre- Half-Baked fic about Duo, Keisuke and Sorata when they were kids. It seems like such fun . . .  
  
Jillian 


	10. ~intermission~

Interlude: Just Who the Heck are these Characters Anyway? By Jillian Storm  
  
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Hi. Well, this might be the precursor to chapter 10-but even after all this time I can't claim either the characters or the lyrics I've been using. Since this is a crossover, and while you might recognize most of them, I'd like to take a moment to go through the current cast for you. Some days I forget that people actually read this story, and thought it might be helpful. (and thanks to "passerby" for planting the idea)  
  
One thing to keep in mind. My goal is to take the characters and explore their depths in a universe of my own creation. Actually, in this case, they're just ordinary folk. So while they are still themselves-sometimes their families/experiences/circumstances will be different.  
  
from Fushigi Yugi  
  
Keisuke Yuuki: Kei-kun is my narrator and approaching his 28th birthday. He's working in management at The Tortoise and the Hare, a family-style pet store. At one point, he did have a relationship with Sylvia Noventa; however, his heart quite truly and tragically belongs to Sorata Arisugawa. Keisuke's mom, Miaka and Tamahome are mentioned in passing.  
  
from Pretear  
  
(Pretear is a new anime for me to use in fics. It's a great story where Himeno has super-powers, gets to wear cute costumes and save the universe. All with seven guardians following her around and helping her. That's the cheesy way of putting it. Actually, it's very well done and my roommate who's not really into anime just *loves* Pretear. Yes, the love triangle is legit. And yes, it does sound a lot like Fushigi Yugi when I put it that way, but Himeno has to do all of her own fighting.)  
  
Hayate: Keisuke's current roommate. An artist by night, Hayate works construction during the day (even though he inherited a lot of money, he doesn't talk about that). Hayate used to work for Himeno's father and loves her desperately; although, promises he made in the past are keeping him from acting on those feelings. Along with his inherit insecurities about relating to girls in general . . .  
  
Himeno: Spunky, young, and idealistic, Himeno has the ability to charm the socks off anyone she meets. Consequently, she has the undivided attention of both Hayate and Sasame. Himeno works as a house cleaner and met the Four Doors group after Aya hired her. She knows what she wants, she's just too young to really sort it all out.  
  
Sasame: I also gave him the 'name' Henry/Hank Feist. Always the professional, Sasame just came back after an overseas trip. He works for the Noventa family as a political consultant and writer. Currently, he's advising Sylvia as to her own possibilities. His personal agendas include helping Duo/Kazuma start a band, hooking Keisuke and Sylvia up again, and following through on his own romantic interests with Himeno.  
  
Mysterious Guy from Transylvanian Concubine: Okay, he's a Pretear guy if you don't know him already. Since he doesn't want to tell Keisuke who he is just yet I'd feel bad giving away his secrets prematurely. Soon, soon. I won't let him get away with this Mr. Mystery stuff for long. Can I give clues? Well, he's *great* with kids! And there's the red-striped hair.  
  
from Gundam Wing (I love using GW characters in AU!)  
  
Duo Maxwell: This time, Duo comes in as Keisuke's old friend from high school and drinking buddy. Duo has a non-relationship with Dorothy, started a low-key band with Kazuma/Sasame (he plays sax), works for the local radio station and spends the rest of his time picking up girls.  
  
Dorothy Catalonia: After meeting Duo at the Transylvanian Concubine, Dorothy followed him back to Four Doors and stayed. She specializes in playing pool with Himeno, cleaning up after Duo and watching out for Keisuke (managing to get him addicted to TC on some levels).  
  
Sylvia Noventa: Sylvia and Keisuke were together for a while, but she took the relationship more seriously. They left that friendship on rather crummy terms, but she doesn't seem bitter and has started looking into her own political prospects. Although, it looks like they'll have to interact more if Sasame has his way.  
  
Heero Yuy: The son of a wealthy family friendly with the Noventa's, Heero would rather drive racecars than study law like he's supposed to. He met Duo through intramurals in college and tried to set him up with Sylvia- which led to her meeting Keisuke.  
  
Hilde: Well, she manages Heero's life so he can please both his parents and himself. Pretty much the two of them are absorbed in each other's interests and happiness.  
  
from X 1999  
  
Sorata Arisugawa: He's been Keisuke's best friend since they were little and manages to be Keisuke's chief love-not that they talk about it, ever . . . or yet. Sorata works as a photographer for his sister's magazine and has the least reliable car on the planet.  
  
from Fruits Basket  
  
Ayame Sohma: He found Himeno when he accidentally called a *real* house cleaning service. Ayame helped Keisuke get his feet under him after starting in the "grown-up" world. He's an incorrigible flirt, seemingly having everything under control but misses his younger brother terribly.  
  
from Utena:  
  
Juri Arisugawa: Couldn't resist having her be Sorata's older sister. Juri manages a prestigious woman's magazine, manages to keep her brother responsibly employed, and manages a relationship with Kozue.  
  
Kozue Kaoru: Fills the space as Juri's long-term girlfriend, and supplies "angst" for Duo who thinks she's incredibly sexy.  
  
from Karekano/His and Her Circumstances:  
  
Kazuma: A server at Four Doors, Kazuma went part time in order to promote his band which Duo is a part of.  
  
Miho: Kazuma's girlfriend, she plays with the band (when she forgets to be upset about it).  
  
from Rurouni Kenshin:  
  
Sanosuke Sagara: Sano is a techie for Transylvanian Concubine and helps out with Kazuma's band. He picked up a relationship with Imari.  
  
Hajime Saitou: Sylvia's older half-brother, Saitou is in the military. He distantly disapproves of Keisuke because of his past with Sylvia.  
  
from Himiko Den  
  
Imari: The feisty red-head is the new server at Four Doors. She had an interest in Sorata until that went sour but Sano showed up to fill the void. She can't help being a bit sassy and really dislikes taking suggestions. For being tomboyish, she wears some very girly clothes.  
  
*glances over list* I think that's everyone so far. And of course, now the trouble is I'll probably introduce more characters now and again. *sheepish grin*  
  
Well, for what it's worth. I'm working on chapter 10 right now and it should be up very shortly. In the meantime, if you're looking for new anime-I can't recommend Pretear enough.  
  
***  
  
Keisuke peers over Jillian's shoulder. "He's from Pretear?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Which one was he? There were so many guys in that series . . ."  
  
Jillian scratches her head puzzled (he couldn't tell??). "I'm not telling you, silly. And speaking about a series with a lot of guys in it-what about Fushigi Yugi!?"  
  
"Well, yeah-but, none of them are in this story. If he was from Fushigi Yugi, like Tasuki or Nuriko or Tetsuya *grumbles*, I would have recognized him right away."  
  
"Exactly, now get over to that restaurant and have that dreaded conversation with Sorata."  
  
Keisuke pouts, "I'd rather not."  
  
"I know, darling. But it must be done."  
  
"If you insist . . . *sighs* *pouts* *shrugs*."  
  
Jillian gives him a shove, "Go Keisuke . . ."  
  
"Alright, alright!"  
  
***  
  
BTW, Kay. Thank you so very much for you continued support for Half-Baked. Your enthusiasm has really kept the story exciting for myself as well. I'm glad you're enjoying it. I have been. 


	11. In Simple Conversation

In Simple Conversation By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Keisuke's been dreading this chapter, not that I blame him. On the other hand, I was looking forward to this chapter, because it promises some changes in dynamics between the characters. You might call that conflict. Not the arm wrestling variety, but - you know what I mean. New direction. Once more, the Moody Blues have inspired this chapter. I listened to them all the time when I was a little girl, and recently got caught up in them again. Spending the past year collecting almost all of their albums on CD. Like the name suggest, most of their songs are moody and blue. Thank you for the reviews, it's so . . . satisfying . . . to know that this story is enjoyable to you. Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
Let's see. First, there was meeting at the door. Midday sunshine, check. Bright reflection on the front glass, check. Emergency Kleenex in my pocket, check. And Sorata, check.  
  
Next, to the table. The waitress stopped by and brought our drinks, check. And we browsed the menu, check. And shared pleasantries, check. Ordered our food, check. Tasted our drinks, check. Commented on the drinks, also check.  
  
So far, normal.  
  
Damn. I was nervous, but by God if I was going to show it.  
  
***  
  
Just in a simple conversation  
  
You can hear the feeling change  
  
Like a river running down  
  
Down to the sea  
  
***  
  
I've known Sorata Arisugawa for all but four years of my entire life. I realize that just as surely as I know something incredibly unexpected and unusual was vibrating through the fibers of his clothing. He's still wearing that obnoxious baseball cap with the A on it. I should mention that's a hat that I bought for him. I used to fancy that it marked him somehow. I remember saying something cheesy like, "Now you'll finally get rid of that horrid hat you've been wearing forever, and have something to remind you of me as well." Adding the last bit as if it didn't have any particular significance at all.  
  
Only, it was the only part with any significance. Now that hat *is* the horrid ball cap he always wears to cover over his short, black hair.  
  
The restaurant is actually a coffee shop. They have a great ham and turkey sandwich that we discovered while looking downtown for the newest used CD store that we'd heard rumors about. Sorata had been thrilled by the idea he could get a sandwich with just mushrooms and cheese. Fancy that?  
  
I smile, a small sad one at first. And when I realize what I'm doing, I spread it a bit more and lean forward. Might as well bite the bullet, as they say, "Alright, enough chit-chat . . ." He starts, putting down his lemonade with more force than necessary. I shift my tone a little in effort to sooth him, perhaps weasel out some explanation for his awkwardness. Who was this girl? "Let's start at the beginning, and give me a proper explanation of yourself." I nod once for encouragement, and I can see some tension pulsing down from his broad shoulders in that yellow jersey, through the sleeves of the white t-shirt, into his fingers and out through the glass of lemonade.  
  
All of that, and then he speaks, "I'm completely out of it, Keisuke. To be honest with you." He meets my steadfast gaze for a moment, and then he's staring elsewhere--seeking release in that half-full glass again. "It's hard to be a jester, all the time, y'know? Then to have something come and hurt so deeply? I laughed about it with Duo, but I'm . . ."  
  
"Hey," I say lightly, finding that reserve of tenderness I have for Sorata and using it to will him my strength. "I said the beginning, didn't I?"  
  
It must work. The rest came all to easily, not that it was easy to hear.  
  
He almost missed meeting her. Juri had been on his case for sometime forcing him to change his schedule and fit in a photo shoot to fill a spread for a very important article in the personalities section of her women's magazine. I remembered Juri trying to hunt Sorata down at the picnic, and it had been all for the same purpose.  
  
"I was fooling around with Imari," Sorata chuckles, "The most fun came from irritating her. Something that we were able to do with little trouble. A disaster from the start, and there were certain parts of me that she wasn't about ready to deal with."  
  
But once he had put Imari out of the picture, he didn't have any personal interests as barriers to the commitment his sister wanted him to make. Three sessions on alternating days. And, since this personality was a harpist from Japan, Juri pressed him into filling a portion of the PR responsibilities as well.  
  
"She'd say, 'You're funny, just take her around to a game or to the lake. That should be enough, little bro.' Really, we didn't even know if she spoke any English to tell us what she liked to do." Sorata pushes at his forehead with his palm, elbow balanced against the table. Holding back the hair slipping free from the hat. Then he slides it all the way back, taking the hat off in a smooth motion and setting it on the table. Running his fingers through just hair.  
  
"What's her name?" I ask, interested. Well, sounding interested. Perversely terrified is more like it. Dread knotting my stomach. And then there's that ham and turkey sandwich on the table staring at me. I was supposed to eat that? Now? I open the bag of chips and pulling out a very small one, manage to put it between my tense lips.  
  
"Ah, well, Arashi." He examines his own sandwich, lifting at one half, then reconsidering, takes the other half. "Arashi . . . something or other in Japanese." He falters through his own enthusiasm, "Although, I'm dead set on getting that changed to Arisugawa."  
  
"I bet," I manage to sound sly, "What's she look like?"  
  
And then he melts into a big pile of Sorata goo. Listening, I decide that something has affected his system of perceptions. No girl could look that good. But our darling Sorata does tend to exaggerate.  
  
And I pry it from him bit by bit. The story of their first quarrel. Her slipping in and out of Japanese but managing English well enough. And her enchanting glower.  
  
"She's so insecure, and I can't imagine why." He chews wistfully staring off in the distance. Comfortable with me now, he indulges in tangents. I stop listening part way and nibble on that sandwich that will never taste good again ever. I'll be lucky if I can come back here to even drink their great espresso. Now and again, drawn back to his familiar voice, tending to tell stories in all octaves in many different tones and volumes. When Sorata becomes passionate, his entire voice becomes an expressive performance.  
  
Proportionally, as I reinforce his heart: Mine crumbles.  
  
But, in my world, his happiness is all that matters. Not who brings it to him. Nor what he actually says or who he sees.  
  
He takes the check. Fondly, I notice this might be our last date. Arashi will take him away eventually. If not tomorrow, then when he follows her career with his camera. When they have children. I see the sincerity of his feelings remain even as he puts that cap backwards over his head.  
  
"Thanks for . . . not laughing." He says, and I almost don't hear it as we awkwardly pass each other trying to leave through the door at the same time. I meet his eyes, and match his almost-not-there smile of relief.  
  
Sorata's kids.  
  
Well, at least that'd make me an indirect Uncle Keisuke.  
  
***  
  
And if you need an explanation  
  
I defy you to explain  
  
But something's not the same  
  
And it's bothering me  
  
***  
  
As I role down the window, we can already hear the high pitched whistling of the cars on the track. Hayate sitting next to me, leans down to get a closer look at the woman tending the gate. We'd spent the past ten minutes waiting for her to be satisfied that the truck in front of us wasn't smuggling in any extra children. She ran a tight ship and glances into our back seat skeptically. As if Hayate and I might also be trying to smuggle refugees across her boarders.  
  
I take back my change and hurry into the nearest parking spot. We're late.  
  
"Did Hilde say she'd meet us anywhere?" Hayate says, louder than normal as we walk past all the overpriced concessions. The nachos smell particularly displeasing. I try to avoid bumping shoulders with the fleshy, greasy guys that keep streaming around our slower pace. Each one of them wearing some variety of stockcar apparel. I might like guys, but I like pretty guys. Or at least, guys my age.  
  
"Hey look, Hayate," I sneer, in an attempt not to spoil the comment by laughing, "They all have your haircut!"  
  
After parting ways with Sorata, I collected myself and Hayate into something more appropriate for an evening at small town stockcar races, but I'm feeling almost overdressed in my single stripe shirt and jeans from the mall. Then we drove a ways from the city to small town America. Where almost all of the store windows were putting out a plug for the driver of choice. A community that lived, breathed and sponsored stockcars. Kicking up earth with my sneakers. Glad I'd left the designer shoes at home this time around.  
  
Hayate shakes his head, guiltily waving that ponytail of hair that, realistically, was better kept than any of the others we'd seen so far. "You didn't want anything to eat?" He glances hesitantly at the venders. Wrinkling his forehead, "We should have eaten before coming."  
  
No one was really paying attention to the track, where they were pulling off the sprint racers. I glance up into the stands and we take a seat in the front. Sitting stiff and feeling completely out of place.  
  
"Soooo." I say, dumbly. Letting the emptiness sit between us again. Then again, what emptiness? Soon enough more cars were going around the dirt track. Apparently working out the positions for the later race.  
  
"What are you doing down here?"  
  
I jump with relief, having been startled as Hilde shouts near my ear. "Waiting. Sorry, we're a tad late." I point my thumb at Hayate, "Someone here couldn't decide what to wear."  
  
"He's lying." Hayate growls. "He sent me back twice to change into something more suited to a race track."  
  
"Well, you should be thanking Keisuke then," Hilde mocks, not so much supporting me as teasing my roommate, "Between you and Heero, we all know you still need someone to dress you."  
  
"Don't make us sound so . . . married." Hayate stands, "Where should we be sitting then?"  
  
"Back with us," Hilde waves higher into the stands, "They kick up some serious dirt on these corners. Wouldn't want to get your hair dirty, now would we?"  
  
On the end, I match Hilde step for step, hearing first, "Dad surprised Heero with his own car today."  
  
"Really?" I sound enthusiastic, then admit, "What does that mean?"  
  
"Well, Daddy owns a mechanic's shop, you see. And Heero helps out a lot. Since my older brothers have both moved on to NASCAR, Heero's my dad's pet project now. Wants to make a decent racer out of him. So we're sponsoring a car for him!"  
  
"Heero needs money?" I raise an eyebrow.  
  
"No," Hilde says more solemnly, as solemn as one can be speaking at such volume to be heard. We reach the top of the covered stands and slide sideways. "I wonder where they went off to?" She muses, then answers. "The crowd doesn't take too well to rich kids. And no one knows Heero is one. He leaves that behind him here. I really wanted you all to come. Support my guy and all." She began to squeal enthusiastically as the cars took to the track, two by two. "There he goes!"  
  
It was certainly farther away from our new seats, but the dirt rolled towards us in waves even as they turned their first corner.  
  
"Which one's Heero?" Hayate calls across me to Hilde.  
  
"The black and gold one. With the orangey gold phoenix. That's our store mascot. Number 01."  
  
"Go car One!" I yelp cheerfully. The rumble of the cars increasing with each lap. My breastbone begins to vibrate, and I place one hand over it gingerly.  
  
"Zero One." Hilde corrects, smiling ear to ear. She's such a good girlfriend. But then again, Heero's the one that's filling her role of the ideal guy. No wonder she's happy.  
  
I suppose, that if I did any thinking in advance, I would have wondered who she meant by "they." They could have been anyone. A family with five young boys all sporting autographed shirts of their favorite driver, her parents, a hive of bees. Okay, maybe not a hive of bees; although, the buzzing from the track had already dulled my hearing.  
  
I feel a prick of premonition, about three seconds before hearing, "Keisuke! You did come."  
  
I pull my eyes from the black and gold car to see the bodies hovering in the aisle. Two blonds.  
  
The first, Sylvia. And the thought that we hadn't arranged to meet like I had initiated. Damned if I don't have some lousy habits when it comes to following through on prearranged correspondence. She was the one who'd spoken, obviously pleased to see me. Glancing at Hayate in passing, before fixing me with a peculiar smile.  
  
Of course, her shadow was Sasame.  
  
***  
  
I think I see where I went wrong  
  
I think I see what's going on  
  
***  
  
Then there is an awkward rearranging of seats. In my effort to switch sides with Hayate, putting another body between him and Sasame (I try) I'm shuffled to the end, Sylvia on my left, then Sasame, Hilde and Hayate farther away than I'd intended. I lean forward to check on him, but Hilde's standing up enthusiastically as Heero guns his way around the corner and around one of the more familiar local favorites to break ahead on the straightaway.  
  
Sylvia puts a hand to her throat and glances at me from the corner of her eyes, "I've come before, but it always smells so . . . oily."  
  
"It is a racetrack," I observe, glibly. She laughs, and must be comfortable because I'm suddenly impressed by how easily I can make her relax with some stupid comment. Maybe because she doesn't have to be a perfectionist with me. I wouldn't know if she were bluffing or telling the truth regardless.  
  
Seeing her here is so different, I can't put a finger on it. Her hair is down. Curling up at the ends, sunshine yellow. China doll lips under a soft round nose profile. Suited to her regal position, but tonight wearing a casual button down top and jeans. Dust on her boots.  
  
"You're staring." She says, her regular tone barely heard above the ruckus.  
  
"Sorry," I sit back. Hayate will just have to take care of himself. Last I saw he was sitting with his arms crossed, intent on watching the cars go round and round. "You came with Sasame?"  
  
"We were both coming anyway, so we rode together." Sylvia's tone indifferent, "He didn't make the party, but Sasame likes Heero quite a bit and wanted to come."  
  
"Sasame likes everyone." I did try to conceal the resentment, but it's not lost on her.  
  
"Don't be jealous." She misunderstands, "We're just friends." Then she begins to rummage through her handbag, pulling out a package and offering it to me, "Want some?" Earplugs.  
  
"Damn straight." I take two eagerly, happily deadening the roar. Although, it does nothing to explain the clammy sweat building on the back of my neck, causing my shirt to stick to my back.  
  
"Yeah. Right." She shakes her head in disbelief.  
  
I wonder about her comment for a bit. Then forget it.  
  
Sitting so near her this time, I have impressions of long conversations. Listening to her chat about her dreams and ambitions. Honestly. Expressing the doubts that her family could never know. Her parents could not fathom anything but her success. Her brother would dismiss them as momentary weakness. And I . . . simply listened. Agape with simple wonder at how practical and talented she could be all at once. She practiced her humility on me. Or maybe it was her vulnerability.  
  
Opening each door to every weak bit she uncovered in herself. Giving it to my keeping.  
  
Only, I hadn't fulfilled my part of the unshared bargain. I hadn't been the confidant she'd expected. I had probably failed her more in underestimating that connection she had built than ending what society defined as a romance. Sylvia had never asked for my physical attentiveness. Instead, she must have wanted someone to listen and care and love her in those ways.  
  
Of course, it is just as another car bumps Heero in one of the last laps that his car burst into flames and his distant form scrambles out the window and jumps a few steps back. Pacing, head turned toward the vehicle. Just then that I realize that my thoughts of Sylvia had evaporated completely and I'd spent the better part of the relative silence behind those earplugs wondering where Sorata was.  
  
Hilde, instantly comforted to see Heero safely away from the car, leaves quickly to join him. Excusing herself. Her purpose then to support Heero there.  
  
What was Sorata doing tonight? I'd been afraid to ask at lunch. And if that included taking and treasuring that Japanese girl's weaknesses, her vulnerabilities. Giving his to her now.  
  
Feeling chilly, I know that I am no different. I guess that's what I've always wanted too.  
  
The chance to be vulnerable. Not only to protect someone, but to have someone catch me.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile and far away  
  
As the night draws in  
  
He's holding her right now  
  
I can feel it all begin  
  
***  
  
After the excitement of the fire truck, and a small show of fireworks, we all make our way down to the pits. Even from a few yards distance, we can see the swarm of country children peering at the gate, waiting to get let inside. Their excitement buzzes in the air almost enough to rival the now absent sound of the cars.  
  
Behind them, Hayate attaches himself to me. I must say I'm impressed, he managed several two word sentences to Sasame part way over. Now that he couldn't simply point to his ears and shake his head. Pretending to be deaf to Sasame's comments.  
  
"Oh my gosh, look at that!" I point, one junior stock car fan scampering by has a shirt with the black and gold 01 car printed on it. His pumping hand holding what appears to be a photograph of Hilde's boyfriend. Watching him run, the boy does go right up to where Hilde and Heero are standing proudly, letting fans take pictures of them in front of the smoldering car. An older, heavily bearded man, who I sense must be Hilde's father, examines the damages. Intent on the machine, not seeing the dozen children now positioning themselves for autographs.  
  
"He's . . . like a superstar." Hayate's expression completely puzzled.  
  
One girl, perhaps ten, bent over so that Heero could sign the back of her logo wear with a large black marker. "Thank you." She blushes furiously and runs over to where her father and grandfather are inspecting the damage from a respectful distance.  
  
"Fame, glory. Well earned tonight, Yuy." Sasame walks up to Heero and slaps his arm with an unexpected extension of macho-ism. Heero returns the smile, his face blackened from the track and the narrow escape.  
  
"Blasted foul luck on that corner." Heero chuckles, "But they'd all have hated me if I had beaten the town favorite." He stretches his shoulders, bending at his knees. Starting to feel the need to loosen up apparently, after being cooped up in that car as long as he had been.  
  
"Is it dead?" I ask ignorantly, eyeballing the vehicle.  
  
"Daddy can fix anything," Hilde rolls her eyes, "Besides, that's half the fun for them. Now you and Daddy can bond while trying to salvage your new car . . ."  
  
"Lovely," Heero kisses her hair, suddenly all wrapped around her. "You'll have to help too."  
  
"Get lonely in that car, did you?" She teases, pushing him away, but not much.  
  
Sasame smiles, glancing over at me oddly enough. Then noticing Sylvia's expressionless gaze, addreses her, "Syl, why don't we invite Hayate and Keisuke to the local ice cream parlor around here and leave these two to celebrate?"  
  
Hayate stiffens, obviously wanting to be anywhere but near Sasame any longer.  
  
"No, that's not, we don't . . ." I start, finding the same exact words echoing in Sylvia's voice. She looks at me suddenly. Questions in her eyes that I don't recognize or comprehend.  
  
Yes, there is certainly something different about her when she isn't inside that house, when she isn't being forced to entertain. I'm seeing her almost for the first time again as we stand under the electric lights.  
  
The sunshine having disappeared a long time ago.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile and far away  
  
When the day is done  
  
I ride away my friend  
  
Into the setting sun  
  
And the rivers running down  
  
Down to the sea  
  
***  
  
Heero and Hilde disappear. Sasame's offer falling on unwilling participants; he takes her home, amiable regardless of our refusals.  
  
Hayate surprises me, "Are you up for . . . well, you know where."  
  
We've been driving in silence. A welcome silence because I'm still hearing phantom cars spinning around the small confines of my own skull. Also welcome because neither of us wants to talk about Sasame. I don't want to talk about Sylvia.  
  
And I haven't told anyone about Sorata.  
  
"Yeah," I say, surrendering to escapism once more, "That sounds good."  
  
After another mile or two of quiet, I add. "Should we change clothes?"  
  
"I dunno," Hayate chuckles, "Isn't that your department?"  
  
***  
  
I let love slip right through my fingers  
  
And I watched it drift away  
  
But still I had to say  
  
What was written for me  
  
***  
  
Funny how changing clothes can be like changing personality. So much about a fellow's clothes will tell you where he's been, where he's coming from or where he'd like to be going. Hayate's dancing with a purple haired girl as if he'd like to get laid. Some crazy leather pants from days gone by that he dug out of the closet. A dark purple shirt a few sizes too small. One of mine, but on him it looks better. Of course.  
  
Hayate hardly ever drinks. Tonight he's making grand steps into exploration. And I'm wondering if the sparkle in that vixen's eyes isn't intoxication but something a bit more sinister. How many minutes before I need to run interference. Being drunk with friends at Four Doors is fun, but Hayate's wandering far, far from his boundaries tonight. Time to put on chaperone-Keisuke act.  
  
Note to self. When Hayate wants to go to Transylvanian Concubine in future, say "no."  
  
"Shiori's prowling tonight," A voice I haven't heard in a while. After a tremble, I realize it's a welcome sound. "Want me to teach her a lesson?"  
  
"Teach her a lesson?" I ask, not needing to look back. It's him, of course. The nameless, attention grabbing dresser.  
  
"For stealing your fellow."  
  
"He's not my fellow. Again, he's my roommate."  
  
"You said you were attracted to him." He's brushing his shoulder against mine. Funny, the first thought I have is that I should have worn something sexier than cotton.  
  
"Attracted?" I rummage through my memories. Having a near heart attack as it floods back, kiss. Alcohol. Dull memories of talking out of turn. Talking a lot. "When will I learn?" I slap my forehead, "I was drunk. I don't mean half the things I say when I'm that gone . . . I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize." He shrugs, ruffling my sleeve again with the movement. "He is attractive." I feel a rush of jealousy, fancy that. "Not as cute as you, Keisuke." My ears haven't had the opportunity to turn red in quite a while. Hearing him say my name was almost too much. "So, want to watch me play a bit?"  
  
"Play?" I ask, wonderingly.  
  
"Take a seat," He nods to my normal table in the corner. Shooing me toward the stairs. "I'll be with you shortly." A promise that shocks me with excitement. Something that simple. Something is very different tonight. I must have looked dismayed as I puzzled over it because he steps close a moment. Narrowing his eyes, looking for permission before he leans in slightly to whisper his lips over my own again. Another promise.  
  
Did I say kissing was stupid? I meant to say electric.  
  
"Okay?" I speak first, wondering what in the world this guy sees in me.  
  
Then his features turn wickedly playful. "Okay, then. Let me rescue your friend here. Find him a good girl, then we can . . . chat."  
  
"Okay." I repeat dumbly. Thank God I'm cute when I'm dumb, because a peculiar expression of affection hovers like a ghost over his parted lips, narrow nose, dark brow.  
  
I had been drinking at the bar downstairs to lasso Hayate if I needed to, but something like an old shoe relaxes me as I return to that observation perch. The music of Transylvania seeming a friendly, well-worn shirt after an evening at the stock car races.  
  
"The usual?" A waitress that I don't recognize asks.  
  
"Well, sure." I nod, not knowing if I had a usual here. Let alone if some stranger would know what it was. Then again, even if I wasn't observant at the TC, didn't mean that others didn't observe me.  
  
Like he did, obviously. The lithe stranger, as excellent a dancer as Dorothy had first observed all those blurred weeks ago, had found a much more docile looking partner. Obviously she was in on the plot and didn't mind switching over to Hayate, as they strategically divided my roommate from the violet haired girl. Probably too drunk out of his leather breeches to realize it was a different girl across from him, Hayate didn't flounder.  
  
Scanning them quickly, I almost lost my favorite stranger and the deviant girl. Although, I would have spotted them soon enough. I don't think I'd call that dancing anymore, it seems a whole heck of a lot more like dueling. Nothing compromising or compatible between them, making the two of them stand out from the sea of movement. Then neither of them are moving at all. He puts his hands on his hips. She is shaking her head, turns and worms her way to the bar.  
  
His face turns up, seeking my corner. I wave. God, he has a nice smile.  
  
***  
  
I thought I'd end up as the hero  
  
Thought the glory would be mine  
  
Very soon I was to find  
  
It wasn't to be  
  
'Cos in this part I've got to play  
  
It doesn't quite turn out that way  
  
***  
  
The usual turns out to be a pair of identical glasses filled to the frothy brim with Transylvanian tap. The second glass immediately swooping out of my reach and into his hands. Sitting across from me and wrapping a triumphant smile into a steady drink.  
  
"Thanks." I smile, knowing that Hayate was safe for a short while anyway. The girl he had called Shiori was at the bar. Her hair vibrantly attention getting even in the dance lighting of the Saturday night.  
  
"You're welcome." He tips his head and his glass politely. "Let's you save the roommate, without public admonishment."  
  
"Much easier." I agree. I keeping my hands under the table, afraid that if I take the glass while he's watching me like that I might tremble or spill it.  
  
"You liked it last time." He motions toward the glass. "Something wrong? Driving home tonight, perhaps?"  
  
"I'm sort of wondering how I got home last time," I admit sheepishly, "I really can't recall anything much from . . . last time."  
  
"Seemed to me like that was your intent." His tone changing, becoming reserved. He sets down the glass and leans forward, "Do you always react that way when a guy kisses you?"  
  
"Obviously, no." I backpedal, putting up a flustered defense.  
  
"Good." Then he tries not to smile, "I think. And, he took you home last time, by the by. Came to collect you when he was tired of dancing."  
  
"Hayate. His name is Hayate." I turn from making sure Hayate was still with the nice girl, then bravely ask what I'd started to wonder after he first spoke to me tonight. "And you know my name. What's yours?"  
  
A funny amazement makes him pause, and a bit of fear? He runs his fingers through his hair, startling me now with deja vu. Someone else mimicking anxiety.  
  
Immediately, I want to put him at ease. Erase these conficted feelings. "Let's do it properly. From the beginning." I stretch out my arm, "Hi, I'm Keisuke Yuuki."  
  
"It's a pleasure," He chuckles, taking my hand, "And I'm Goh, or Justin Vaughn-Goh rather. My mother adored that horrid hyphen arrangement when she married my father."  
  
"How interesting," I say teasing, then whisper, "It's not that horrid. At least you know who your father is."  
  
He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. You don't?"  
  
"Well, Miaka and I have made some guesses from the repeat boyfriends."  
  
"Miaka?"  
  
"She's my kid sister. I must have mentioned her?"  
  
"In passing, I think," He nods, "I have three younger brothers. Much younger. I was an unexpected addition, so my parents planned the rest of them to come much, much later. I think the youngest, Shin, will turn seven at the end of the month."  
  
"Seven, wow."  
  
'They live on the west coast, though."  
  
"So what are you doing out here?"  
  
"Taking classes."  
  
"Hey, how old are you?"  
  
"Twenty-five. Well, soon enough."  
  
"Gee," I sputter, somehow between now and then, I'd forgotten to be nervous and was enjoying the beer very much.  
  
"Don't tell me that's a problem?" He rolls his eyes, then adds, "Old man."  
  
"I'm only twenty-seven." Dropping my age back properly. I'm not going to be twenty-eight for a few weeks.  
  
"And you're still single?" He laughs, mystified. Shaking his head.  
  
And because of that amazement, I forgive him. Because for a moment, I had forgotten the primary reason why I had left Sylvia. Oblivious to anyone except the person I loved. Love. Still love.  
  
But I can hardly betray him any longer. Not when he's chosen someone else.  
  
"Yeah, still single." I admit, "I have my reasons." But I don't want to share them. "I like you, Goh." I test out the name he offered, "And I . . ."  
  
"Please," He shakes his head, "Spare me this, alright?"  
  
"I-I don't know what I was going to say." I sigh, "Maybe I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me take my roommate's sorry carcass home?"  
  
Understandably cautious, Goh raises an eyebrow, "How romantic." Then smiling, "Fine, sounds . . . fine. I can do that."  
  
"Then we can chat some place . . . not here."  
  
"I can do that." Goh leans out of his chair and stands up, "In fact, I'd like that. How about now?"  
  
I don't know why I asked him. Maybe I need a distraction . . . or something.  
  
Something, check.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile and far away  
  
As the night draws in  
  
He's holding her right now  
  
I can feel it all begin  
  
Meanwhile and far away  
  
When the day is done  
  
I ride away my friend  
  
Into the setting sun  
  
And the river's running down  
  
Down to the sea  
  
*** 


	12. Dare Not to Ask

Dare Not to Ask By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I suppose I should officially admit that I'm just borrowing the characters. And the lyrics. This time brought about by Gordon Lightfoot's "Go My Way." I'm not usually such a fan of mellow music, but Keisuke seems inspired by it. *shrugs* Enjoy! Oh, yes-more author's notes at the end.)  
  
***  
  
Go my way  
  
and your dreams will all come true  
  
Go my way  
  
and I'll be good to you.  
  
In the sunset the wild waves are calling,  
  
my shadow is following you.  
  
***  
  
I'm reaching a point where I wonder how much I should be confessing, admitting, owning up to . . . and how much God really knows already. Upon occasion, I think He's really the one who is bound and determined to make things complicated for me. Saying things like, "Hmm, Keisuke's been a good boy. Let's see how much trouble he can handle and still maintain that integrity of his."  
  
I shake my fist toward the sky and think loudly, "I'm on to you God! You knew this was going to happen all along." However, that's as far as it goes. I tend to get a little glassy eyed whenever my thoughts try to circle around the concept of predestination.  
  
Trouble is, somehow, between her secret cigarette addiction and her fear of men, my mother raised me in such a way that I want to be a decent person. I like being nice. And, darn it all, I like God. He's not so bad.  
  
If I think back to last night, I do wonder why the Transylvanian Concubine's most eligible bachelor bothered to help me out. Maybe that's something I should confess. Confess that I was just a bit too sober when we shut my drunk-out-of-his-mind roommate into his room. Confess that our promised chat never happened, since we were a bit distracted by some, well, more personal exploring. Confess that our stupid couch just isn't big enough for said exploring. Confess that it was with great, great reluctance that I let him leave and went back to my room.  
  
Now, I'm sure God knows about all of that. I wonder if anyone else here, besides Him, suspects what Keisuke Yuuki does in his free time. I wonder if anyone else here bothers to think about his or her life like this, in so much-hesitating-detail. I'm afraid to ask. I might come to church, but there is no way you'll find me in that revealing booth sharing this with a priest.  
  
Confessing that while I like Goh alright. While I like the attention. The affection.  
  
Confess that I feel awful guilty. Guilty when I fell into my own bed, pulling off my rumpled clothes. Guilty as it had been Goh who tangled his fingers in my hair. Not that I had minded.  
  
Guilty that as much as I like this guy. As much as he surprises me with his attention. Something in me can't let go.  
  
I feel around for my wallet. Aw, heck. Why turn down something that might be wonderful? Goh might be the exact way I can shake off my trouble with Sorata. He did turn up just in time, after all. Maybe that's the universe's way of apologizing.  
  
On the other hand, it might get me into even more trouble.  
  
But there's really no way to know until you try it out. I flip through the receipts, absent of anything substantiating true monetary value. The incense makes me lightheaded for a moment. I'm sitting just a bit too close today. A bit too close so that like the front row of the movie theater, I can't take in the whole picture.  
  
There it is. Well, it can't hurt. After all, I essentially had permission, since he had given me his phone number.  
  
***  
  
Go my way  
  
and I'll take you by the hand,  
  
believe in me  
  
and I'll do the best I can.  
  
I can't be anything but just what I am,  
  
I can't help it if I'm in love with you.  
  
****  
  
"So how serious are you guys?"  
  
Crap, I thought I had prepared myself for this. But Duo's toothy grin and I'm-not-so-innocent-you-can't-fool-me stare catches me off guard. I'm hovering by the entryway to Four Doors, meaning to hide in the shadows of the dark wood walls and doors.  
  
No such luck. News that Keisuke had invited an outsider. A friend. A perhaps-more-than-friend had been the only conversation so far. Dorothy and Hayate are speculating about it at the table. Hayate really is no help, because he can't remember anything from last night. And vowing up and down that he'll swear off drinking forever. Boy just can't handle his alcohol. Truthfully, I do prefer he leave it alone. He's not a very mobile drunk and it took two of us to get him up the stairs to the apartment. Goh pulling up on one leg while I shouldered most all of Hayate's weight as he shifted.  
  
Not fun.  
  
"Serious?" I react quickly enough, laughing, "Hey man, this is Keisuke Yuuki you're talking about here. Absolutely, one hundred percent *not* serious." I glare at him with mock-suspicion, "And how serious are you about what's her face?"  
  
"Who?" Duo feigns innocence, "I haven't even started hitting on girls tonight. Too early."  
  
"Early is right." I press, "Why are you here so early?"  
  
"Well, Hayate told us you'd found somebody," Duo shrugs, "And we didn't want to miss it."  
  
"My gosh, you're actually answering all of my questions." I tease, poking him in the shoulder, trying to urge him back toward the others so I can wait in peace.  
  
He wiggles his eyebrows. Something that annoys Dorothy, makes other girls giggle, and is so much the jolly kid I grew up with. "And I expect you to answer all of mine." A strange determination falling on the muscles around his mouth, "Are you serious about this guy?"  
  
"As serious as I can be." I still don't like that question, "How am I supposed to know yet?"  
  
"I'm just checking," Duo continues with the serious tone, "I mean, you find this guy. And Sorata . . . well. It's all happening so quickly. I'm just trying to watch out for you guys." Then feeling the cloud of frustration growning between us, he slaps my arm, "Or maybe I'm just jealous."  
  
"Oh yes," I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, "And you are just destined to stay single forever."  
  
In another cosmic joke, just then, a pretty gal with reddish-brown hair opens the door, gives a gorgeous smile and slips past us. Duo's eyes suddenly glued on her. Without looking back, he comments, "Okay. Maybe single forever, but not if I can get her phone number." He shakes his head in amazement, "Wow."  
  
"Down boy." I warn, with little hope.  
  
"She's new." He's talking to himself now.  
  
Dou's hopeless. But I take my chance, "Go get her."  
  
"Mission accepted." Immediately, he adopts that self-confident walk that we're all so jealous of. I watch him sit down with Hayate and Dorothy again, but taking the seat that best faces the woman that just came in. When Imari appears, Duo pulls down on her elbow. Obviously beginning his conspiracy for the evening.  
  
"You called?"  
  
While I was distracted, Goh slips up next to me and whispers in my ear. He has such a nice voice. But it's a bit startling to hear his attentiveness in the Four Doors, where I'm just plain and simple me. The place where I'm not the mysterious new guy who watches from the balcony corner. "Called? Hmm? Yeah, that was me." I'm already starting with the stupid jokes. Sometimes I sincerely embarrass myself.  
  
He doesn't seem to mind, and wraps an arm around my shoulder. "So I get to meet your friends? And chat again?"  
  
"This time we're really going to talk." I can't help but notice that he looks incredibly different in the casual setting of the Four Doors. His dark clothes much more conservative. Hole-less jeans, white shirt and leather jacket. I don't think I've seen him wear sleeves before. Even his dark hair seems more subdued with subtle highlights. I guess there might be more to Justin Vaughn-Goh than the sex appeal and the flirting.  
  
"Sounds good to me." He smiles so easily, then glances further inside as if to guess who my friends might be. Can I say anything wrong? But it's all so new. I've never taken him seriously before.  
  
He's holding the back of my shirt almost possessively as I introduce him to the table. Maybe he's nervous. But introductions go over rather well.  
  
"Vaughn-Goh?" Duo doesn't let it go by without comment, "Well, Justin, I must say you've turned out very well-adjusted with that surname. I'm Duo Maxwell, Keisuke's old buddy. Oldest except for Sorata, of course. I'm not sure if he'll be here or not. We were the terror-trio in high school."  
  
"I can't imagine that." Goh relaxes into my shoulder. He must be letting some of that buried anxiety loose. I make Hayate scoot over and Goh slides in next to me. I find it funny to be the more confident one, but these are my friends I suppose.  
  
"You don't play pool do you?" Dorothy asks, smiling in a way to put Goh at ease. It's not very Dorothy like, so I watch her warily. She's sizing him up. Good grief, this is almost as bad as if I'd taken him home to Mom.  
  
I'd planned out my introduction to the idea a few years ago when I thought I might someday have to explain Sorata to her. It went something like this, "Mom, you like guys. And so does Miaka. All I can say is that you both must be rubbing off on me as well." Not that I'd had an opportunity to try it out.  
  
"Why?" The texture of Goh's voice detecting the sugar-coated challenge and responding in kind, "Are you looking for a challenge?"  
  
Dorothy raises her eyebrow, "I'd like to play a game, yes."  
  
And before I know it, the cocky and confident boy from Transylvanian Concubine is back. Dorothy pushes Duo out of her way and the seat next to me is empty again as they make their way over to the table past the booths of older folks wearing cowboy boots. The two of them sophisticated and suddenly too comfortable with each other.  
  
As they had passed me, I heard Dorothy say more quietly, "I remember you . . ." But of course, I could hear nothing more since they'd gone far enough away. And because I'm suddenly accosted by both Duo and Hayate.  
  
"Where the heck did you find him, Keisuke?" Duo ogles in amazement, "I thought you might be rebounding . . . uh, catching someone on the rebound and . . . heck. Even I can see what's attractive about that guy."  
  
"That's who helped me home last night?" Hayate muses more solemnly, "I'm surprised you didn't keep him last night."  
  
"Knock it off," I blush furiously, "I'm not like that." I should have expected this.  
  
"You're not, but what if he is?" Duo jokes heavily, "Watch yourself, pal."  
  
"I do." I protest.  
  
"He looks kind of familiar." Hayate rubs his chin, his eyes alert. Quite unlike last night. "He isn't that same guy from that club as before, is he?"  
  
"Club?" Duo spews his drink back into the glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "You've gone clubbing for *guys*?"  
  
"Why are you saying 'guys' like that?" I defend myself weakly, trying to change the subject, "I like girls too . . . oh please, give me a break."  
  
Duo watches me sternly for a moment, then relaxes his shoulders and smiles more amiably, "Sorry, Keisuke. We'll back off a bit. Today. But if you plan on seeing this guy again, I can't promise we'll go easy on you in the future."  
  
I know that he doesn't mean that as a threat, but I worry nonetheless. Then Duo's suddenly surprised by a frothy drink set in front of him. Imari tips her head and says, "It's from the lady."  
  
Duo's eyes widen and he jerks his head up to see that the red-headed woman is indeed watching his reaction. As the prowling grin crosses his typically less focused features, I wonder why everyone is giving *me* a hard time.  
  
***  
  
Come on along  
  
and together we'll go,  
  
please love me  
  
and say that you'll be mine.  
  
Why must I sail my ship alone  
  
without a friend?  
  
***  
  
Duo disappears, heads close with the red-headed woman who apparently is as much a prowler as Duo can be. She listens with her slim arms propped against the table, index fingers tapping each opposite elbow. A sign that she's dissecting every flirtatious thing he's saying and pulling the truth from it. Deciding if he's worth her time. Oblivious, Duo chatters endlessly. We'll be lucky to see him again.  
  
But at least that keeps him away from the jukebox.  
  
Hayate and I are thinking about scaring everyone with something that wasn't country, but just then I see Himeno peeking around the corner of the front door. She spots me and waves her hand in enthusiastic greeting. "Hey, gorgeous!" She mimics our circle's classic greeting, hollering it across the bar and then turning bright red when everyone in the place pauses to stare at her. Wondering who she was waving at.  
  
I can feel the tension resonating from Hayate, but he's laughing under his breath. Himeno really can do no wrong in his book. He's so forgiving.  
  
But that forgiveness hasn't really been tested.  
  
And as she holds the door open for Sasame, I know that it's going to be a pretty rough evening.  
  
"Keisuke." Sasame nods his head to me, still standing as Himeno slips across from us in the booth. She eyeballs the drink that Duo abandoned, but we all know that she won't touch it. It's amusing to see her tempted though.  
  
"Hi, Sasame." I'm impressed at how friendly I sound, even while I'm trying to plot out some interference in my head. Maybe if I can get him away for a moment, that'd leave Himeno with my pathetic roommate. "I've brought a friend tonight. I wanted everyone to meet him."  
  
"A friend?" Himeno perks up, she has such a cute attentiveness.  
  
"A boyfriend," Hayate corrects. His face looks pained, part chagrined and part constipated. One of these days, he's really going to have to learn to cope better. Or at least hide some of those inner emotions.  
  
"A boy friend?" Himeno tilts her head puzzled. Oh God, I'm going to have to explain to her . . . unless she picks up fast enough. Sasame is waiting to hear more from me as well.  
  
"Not really. He's just a friend. Right now." I hope they get my drift.  
  
"O-okay." Himeno's eyes are crossing over her nose, that happens when she's thinking about something and it's not quite coming together. Then there are too many conversations starting at once.  
  
Imari, appearing as if from no where, is asking Himeno if she'd like a flavored coke, Sasame asks for a list of the finer beverages, Hayate's saying something about boyfriend in the gay way, I'm denying the extent of his meaning. Just as suddenly, no one's talking. Himeno nods, and Sasame speaks next, "So where is this fellow?"  
  
"Flavored coke and the list." Imari spins on her heel, letting her hair flip out. I watch and just beyond her I see Goh watching with an inquisitive attentiveness.  
  
Mission accomplished. "Come with me," I direct Sasame to follow me. Hoping Hayate picks up and keeps Himeno with him. The settling feeling of satisfaction replaces the flood of frustration over my own insecurities about Goh. But the balance I want of distance and attention won't happen with this bunch of nosy folk. God knows I fit right in with them for that matter.  
  
"Hey, gorgeous," Goh says so that I'm pretty much the only person to hear him. Now that that particular line has lost all substance whatsoever since Himeno walked in. I sigh heavily, and standing beside Goh, point.  
  
"This is Justin Vaugh-Goh. Right now we are friends."  
  
Sasame greets Goh beautifully, shaking his hand. Goh shuffling the pool stick from one side to the other. Instantly chatting, finding that they have similar taste in vintage wine. Sasame inviting Goh to his wine tasting evenings on Thursdays.  
  
Meanwhile, Dorothy spears me with a knowing glance. She obviously remembers the new face from TC the night she took me there. While Goh and Sasame realize that they both had been in Paris the same summer, Dorothy slides next to me to say, "He's a good pool player."  
  
"I'm glad you approve." Realizing that Dorothy's approval means more than anyone else's. Anyone else at the Four Doors that night anyway.  
  
"He means well, that much is sure." She continues, speaking distantly. As if more to herself and she is simply letting me listen in. She brushes her thin blonde hair back into a low pony tail and fixes it there. "As always, there is more to him than meets the eye. But we could say the same about Keisuke." A chilly feeling settles through my skull, down between my shoulders and out my arms in a tremble. I keep myself from asking her to stop. It's not easy having someone scrutinizing your own behavior, though.  
  
Goh laughs, obviously quite amused by the monotone humor most people neglect to recognize in Sasame. But the wit doesn't cause me to pause, as much as hearing the response. For just a moment, it is as if I'd heard Sorata laughing.  
  
I feel very heavy, my hands pulling down on my arms as if someone tied weights to them. My feet cementing to the floor.  
  
"Do you think this is such a good idea?" She turns to look at me, "He doesn't deserve being used as a stand in."  
  
"I'd never . . ." But I don't finish the thought, because I don't want to know if it's true. I can't deny the uncanny similarities. When Goh drops the Transylvanian Concubine atmosphere, he does look, act, seem so much like . . . Sorata. I shake my head, they're not the same. "I'm not."  
  
She takes the vehement reply as truth, and I'm quite frankly surprised to have fooled her so easily. "Okay," she whispers in a sisterly fashion, tapping me with her stick, "Then be happy this time. If he can accept all your stupid habits, you shouldn't have any problem accepting his." Then she adds, "When are you going to tell Sorata?"  
  
"Tell?" My smile waning. Good grief, does everything have to be so complicated. Can't I just be happy?  
  
"Well, it's not going to be easy for him to share you. You know."  
  
I'm sure Dorothy doesn't know what she's talking about. Share? That's what I'm doing.  
  
***  
  
My thoughts are on you,  
  
I dare not ask again.  
  
Go my way,  
  
it's the only way to go,  
  
if things aren't working out  
  
you'll be the first to know.  
  
***  
  
Sasame and I watch as the other two finish up their game. Now and again, I glance over at the table where Hayate's leaning back, one fist on the table. Together, but at a strange angle. Well, at least they're getting some time. Himeno spends most of her time nursing that coke. Working her adorably child-like cheeks around the straw. At least, I hope they're talking. Sasame watches them too, but with a warmness quite unlike my motherly nervousness.  
  
Then again, he might just be appreciating how charming Himeno looks in her mismatched outfit that makes her peculiar hair even more striking.  
  
Himeno might be a bit oblivious, but she does seem oddly attached to both Hayate and Sasame.  
  
I'm too curious, I can't help but ask, "How did you meet?"  
  
"Himeno?" Sasame says needlessly, we understand each other, "Honestly, I met her through Hayate. He was working for her father, and unlike Hayate, I got along with Himeno right away."  
  
"They weren't friends?" That's something new to me.  
  
"Not at all." Sasame shakes his head, "Hardly a day went by that they weren't at each other's throats. I'm surprised they can manage to sit together so civilly."  
  
"Maybe you were wrong." My voice suggestive. Hayate loves Himeno, I can't imagine him being cruel to her in any fashion.  
  
"I lost track of her when Hayate left the gallery. I didn't have much of an excuse to see her, except if she invited me to a show." Sasame pauses to congratulate Goh on an unlikely shot. Goh of course flashes that cheerful smile back to us and winks at me. "I couldn't believe my luck at finding her here. It's been . . . wonderful . . . to catch up with her again."  
  
That's not good news.  
  
And I don't like the scowl Hayate has when he walks up to me just then. "I'm . . . leaving." Hayate doesn't look anywhere else. "I'll see you . . . later."  
  
"Uh, wait." I glance around, Sasame seems ambivalent. Interesting that such a friendly guy has nothing much to say to Hayate of all people. Goh questions me with a concerned lift to his brows, I wave him to stay and follow Hayate myself. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Out."  
  
"Out?" I laugh, desperately, "We are out. What happened?"  
  
He spins toward me and I can't help but cower a bit. When Hayate's this angry, I really don't want to tempt him to hit me again. "I'm fine. As fine as I can be." He expels all the air from his lungs and shakes his head, looking at the floor, hiding behind that hair again. "She said she doesn't need me."  
  
"What?" Perplexed, I can't help but laugh at that. "What would make her say something like that?"  
  
"It doesn't matter." Hayate grumbles.  
  
"Like hell," I'm frustrated now. Nothing is making any sense. "What did you do?"  
  
He stares at me with no remorse in his eyes. And more than a little anger.  
  
"You aren't acting like yourself." I frown, "Maybe I should go home with you?"  
  
"I don't need a babysitter, Keisuke. Go back to your new boy toy and I'll see you some other time."  
  
"Some other time?" I stammer, beginning to lose my own cool. Ignoring the insults the best I could; although, I'd much rather give him a piece of my mind. I can feel more than a few interested watchers. Glancing quickly, even Dou's sitting sideways in his chair as if making up his mind to intervene. Let him. Maybe I need some help. But he doesn't come.  
  
"Is everything okay here?" I feel Goh's fingers curl around a piece of my shirt in the back. A most unexpected feeling of support.  
  
And those words were not the most friendly, Hayate notices. After giving Goh an indescribable appraisal, Hayate turns back to me. "I'll be fine. You have fun. We can talk later."  
  
"Straight home." Goh advises from my side. I'm crossing my arms while I nod.  
  
"Just like parents . . ." Hayate scoffs, but with less anger than before. "Fine." He turns, opening the front door and leaving quickly. I can hear the violent growl of his motorcycle almost immediately.  
  
"Well . . ." I don't know what to say. "Thanks."  
  
"You're not trying to fix all of his problems are you?" Goh asks, almost, but not quite, loosening his hold on my shirt.  
  
"He does live with me." I'm not quite sure why I try either, "I like him. I want him to be happy, but maybe he needs to look somewhere else."  
  
"Are you taking your own advise?"  
  
When I look at him, I don't see the smile I'm used to. Instead, he seems a bit worried. "Hey, this is me." I need him to laugh. I need someone to cheer me up. "I'm always happy."  
  
"Right." Goh circles me with one arm, "Sure you are. I like your friends. Dorothy is one classy dame." Then he leans in closer, "But how much longer are we staying here?"  
  
"I have to work tomorrow."  
  
"So do I." Goh pushes me away for a moment, smiling. "Fine, fine. Do you eat lunch tomorrow?"  
  
"What kind of question is that?" I chuckle, "Yes."  
  
"Alright then," Goh and I have reached the booth where Sasame and Himeno are chatting. They look up a moment, but seeing we're distracted, they wait. Goh scribbles something on the back of a Four Doors' coaster and hands it too me. "Address. Come whenever . . . whenever your lunch is."  
  
I reply, perplexed somewhat, "Okay."  
  
"Is he okay?" Himeno interrupts suddenly.  
  
I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm not sure what Hayate said to her, or why she said what she did. "He just went home." I say vaguely.  
  
"Hayate'll never change." Sasame replies, equally vague.  
  
Just then, Dorothy interrupts. "Did Hayate go home? And where did Duo go off to?" The table with the attractive woman Duo had fixated on for the evening is empty.  
  
"Looks like someone got lucky." Goh whistles, hooking his finger through the side belt-loop of my jeans.  
  
"He just might have." I'm equally surprised.  
  
In such a short time, our close knit friends are stepping out of their places. Duo's actually getting the girls he likes. Himeno is causing the largest fuss, but only since Sasame showed up. I'd seen Sylvia for the first time in years. The one that unsettles the most still is that Sorata's gone so much. And then, Dorothy lost her first pool game to Goh.  
  
I oddly don't mind the way he likes me, but I'm not sure I'm ready. Or maybe I am.  
  
Everyone starts making their own excuses to leave. Quite a bit of conflict, and the week is just beginning. I can't wait to see what trouble the weekend staff caused for the store.  
  
Goh catches me alone by my car and kisses my cheek fleetingly. "Good night, Keisuke." He hovers a moment then adds, "I like your friends. Although, I don't think I've seen the better sides of your roommate yet."  
  
I guffaw, "Ah . . . no. No, you haven't."  
  
"Dorothy invited me to go dance with her a while at Transylvania." He's seeking my permission, "Do you mind?"  
  
"Mind?" How he baffles me, "No, go right ahead. Dorothy only picks good dancers, by the way."  
  
"Hmm." Goh purses his lips, becoming cocky. "I wondered why."  
  
I'm still remembering how reliable Goh tries to be as I wander around the dark apartment and kick the coffee table in the dark. Cursing to myself, I find the light and glancing at the clock decide that I could spare a few hours of sleep to make sure Hayate's cooled down. Perhaps get the whole story about Himeno's rejection.  
  
He doesn't answer when knock. Agitated, I open his door anyway, "Hayate? Are you still brooding?"  
  
He's not there. A quick glance out the window confirms that his bike is gone as well. I hadn't noticed. If Hayate had come home, he didn't stay.  
  
I doze fitfully. Alternating from imagining where the heck Hayate could have crawled off to. To wondering when, if ever, I'd hear from Sorata again. And denying quite religiously that Sorata and Goh would have anything in common. It's just not possible.  
  
***  
  
Author's Notes: Golly, I think this is the first time I've really had other people reading my story while I'm writing it. Thank you for the feedback, I'm becoming quite addicted to your support.  
  
Kiena, I'm so glad you stuck with Half Baked and gave it a chance even though I tend to cripple my longer stories with lyrics. *chuckle* I'll continue to separate them from my own text, and if I have a few moments free from my intrinsic laziness I'll polish up the first chapters. *blush* I like mingling anime characters, so I'm glad they're working well together so far. Thanks.  
  
Kay, I'm glad you think Goh is splendid! I've evangelized another individual to watch Pretear! I must admit, Goh never got too attached to anyone in the series. But with his cute outfits, I knew he had to have a sexy side buried in him somewhere (some manga art convinced me of that). I'm taking a few liberties with him, but I'm trying to keep them all relatively in character.  
  
Rachel, I'm fitting more Sasame in there for you-see! See! *whew* Thanks for the suggestions, it's nice to see that you're able to sense where I'm going with things. It's nice to know that I'm not far off base with my readers. Thanks for not letting me get distracted or lazy.  
  
Alithea, thanks for reading everything that I write. *grin* You're very encouraging, and by the way. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!  
  
More to come. I'm still managing about a week between chapters. Goh has some history that'll bubble up eventually. Arashi's still waiting to make her appearance. Duo's going to be distracted for a while, but should make time to play his sax. And I'm sure Hayate's getting into trouble.  
  
Thanks for reading. 


	13. Talking out of Turn

Talking out of Turn  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Characters-not mine. Lyrics-belong to the Moody Blues. Howdy *waves* this is chapter 12 of my latest attempt to write a longer story. For those interested, I *did* write "Affair on 8th Avenue" about Keisuke, Sorata and Duo when they were younger and took off in Juri's car, so feel free to read that in conjunction with Half-Baked if you'd like--it should be easy enough to find in my ff.net profile. More author's notes at the end. ~enjoy~ )  
  
***  
  
I've lived here long enough that I can't say that I'm new to the area, but I am still inexperienced enough that I can't say I've been in this part of town before. It looks like an entirely different world.  
  
Hayate and I have our apartment near the outskirts of town paying ridiculous rent, but splitting it isn't so terrible. The neighborhood is upper middle class set back in a well-forested area so it's rather docile. Four Doors and Transylvania are just off from the downtown area, wide sidewalks and metered parking when you can't squeeze into the lot somewhere. Four Doors dark wood and settled back into a warm corner. Transylvania cool concrete and sophisticated neon signs.  
  
I'm balancing the coaster Goh gave me between my fingers and staring down the most backward looking diner I've ever seen. Coral colored canopy waving at me in a warm breeze, the day's special written on the front window glass (chicken with rice) and I'm facing my own baffled reflection when the door opens with a cheery hometown jingle of bells.  
  
"Keisuke!" Goh's wiping his hands off on a manly white, but stained, apron, and then he's running his fingers through fallen, dark hair. This is the first time I've seen him completely unprimed, a sloppy grin crinkles his features. "I wondered if you were going to pass by or come in."  
  
"Come in?" I repeat dumbly, then shake my head, catching myself, "Sorry if I'm just gaping here, I thought you'd given me your home address."  
  
"Well, yeah," Goh chuckles, moving to guide me in then thinking better of it, wipes his fingers across the chest of his apron again, "Upstairs. There's a couple of apartments there and Chichiri's letting me live there painfully cheap while I'm finishing up school."  
  
"Chichiri, what kind of name is that?" I'm still trying to collect my wits or at least put them in order, stuffing the coaster into my back pocket. I didn't get much sleep the night before, and then I was awaken to the persistent ringing of the telephone. Which had turned out to be Hayate's boss at the construction site, wanting to know where our favorite golden boy had wandered off to. Honestly, I couldn't tell him and made some lame excuse. He wasn't fooled and let me off easily enough. Nevertheless, I was still haunted by Hayate's disappearance, wandering the pet store in a dangerous daze. Narrowly noticing before I put the snake-food-mice in the hamster cages and the hamsters in the snake cages.  
  
"Don't ask me," Goh makes a strange swooping gesture with his arm again, until I notice he wants me to go inside the diner. "But he's a jolly ol' guy regardless. Can you believe this place? Feels like it's right out of the Andy Griffith show or something."  
  
"True, but worse," I relax, laughing. I have time enough to put my mind on something else, and after getting an eyeful of Goh's tacky yellow t-shirt and frayed jeans I'm feeling incredibly comfortable. "So what exactly are you doing here?" I get a face-full of air blown from a fan balanced above the entryway. No air conditioning. Still, refreshingly not-fluorescent lights from the ceiling make the yellow walls, like Goh's shirt, easier on the eyes. Violet and peach upholstery. Turquoise dinner plates feeding locals that do look like extras from the Andy Griffith show. "Egad! Who designed this place?"  
  
"Isn't it splendid?" Goh walks faster, toward a back door. "Chichiri is the craziest bloke ever, but he's generous. Everyone just loves the weirdo." He calls back behind him, "Tasuki, cover the register, will you?"  
  
"Eh, whatever," A red-headed person pokes his head up from behind the counter, then I could hear him mutter something about Goh's fortune that it was slow as I'm through the back door and going up a rickety, un-railed flight of stairs.  
  
"I didn't realize that your lunch break was going to be so late," Goh says casually, leading just a few steps up, untying the back of his apron, pulling it over his head and holding it scrunched in his fist. We come to a narrow hall and he points to the door on the left, "This is me." He beams and lets me go inside first.  
  
"How long have you lived here?" I ask politely, taking in the small room, a mattress almost hidden by a curtain on the right, a 'good-will'-value recliner on the other, piled high with text books, paper and mathematical instruments. Directly in front was a window looking down onto the street where I'd stood just moments before. A solitary table with two chairs bathing in sunlight. He must spend all his money on clothes.  
  
"Hmm?" Goh fumbles, a bit nervously. Which is understandable, he's just showed me his home. Which is light years different than I would have imagined from the home of the sexy prowler face he puts on at the club. "Four months? Not long, anyway. I stayed with someone else I met when I first came to town for the spring semester. But I needed my own space." He pulls out a chair for me, "I needed a chance to study was more like it." When I sit, he does also, "And when I mentioned it downstairs Chichiri stumbled all over himself to put me in here."  
  
"Dorothy thought you might be new," I glance out the window, still intrigued by this side of town I'd never noticed before, "Did you have fun last night?"  
  
"Yeah," Goh lights up, "Dorothy's sweet." Then he raises a finger and an eyebrow simultaneously, "I hope you like chicken and rice?"  
  
"The special?" I chuckle, shaking my head, "Sure." Then I figure I might as well encourage the attractive guy's effort with a more definite, "Yes."  
  
"Just a moment," And then he left me alone in his one room apartment, the breeze from the window whistling across the table.  
  
***  
  
When I took a little loving from you,  
  
Oh I: never thought about the hurting inside.  
  
But, I took a little more than I should.  
  
Oh why: can't explain that I would ever  
  
Let you slip through my fingers,  
  
Let you escape like yesterday.  
  
***  
  
Why is it that I hear lines in my head, echoing from movies that I've seen in the past? Catchy phrases from a film that I've probably watched one too many times. An important moment, a gag, a really great pick-up line that you just want to try. So why is it the oily voice of the duke that slithers into my thoughts, "It's a little bit funny . . . this feeling inside."  
  
I shudder, nervously. Driving back home after a few afternoon hours of work at the store, I'm still dazzled from what Goh had been showing me. Pieces of himself that leave him vulnerable and human. Pictures of his little brothers, his parents, unhidden delight in those crazy geometry classes he inexplicably adores. Sharing just enough that I feel at ease with knowing him.  
  
And I can feel it begin.  
  
If I'm completely honest, I think I knew it began when he called to me from the diner doorway. His voice unashamedly enthusiastic and undisguised by the jangle of the loud welcome bells. Enthusiastic and undisguised for the better part of an hour, until I couldn't stay any longer.  
  
Yet the only thing I managed was after he walked me back to my old junker. He asked to see me again, and I'm still wading through my thick skull to find some way to appropriately reciprocate. However, I only found that I am strangely inexperienced at admitting any feelings. Anything genuine.  
  
I disguise my love for Sorata. I disguised whatever I hadn't been feeling with Sylvia.  
  
I've never asked myself to define something like this in thoughts, let alone in real words that I would speak to another person.  
  
The best I could do was to impulsively enact my gratitude. Not that I knew what it was exactly that I was grateful for. And so, then, I kissed him.  
  
It was a bit startling, which is why I keep thinking back on it. Wondering if it was the right thing to do. Not that we hadn't kissed before, but I had always seen it as I was the one being kissed. And I hadn't really known who it was I was kissing then either.  
  
Damn it. I don't know how to handle something that might be mutual. As I pull into the drive of the apartment complex, I fleetingly wonder if I should call Miaka and if she were home. And how long and how badly she'll tease me before giving her big brother some practical advise. If she could manage to find any practical advise to give. Miaka, like me, can make pretty speeches about true love, but she, unlike me, spends most of her time participating in it. Not reliably counseling others about the potential confusion of it all.  
  
Besides, I had always figured on pining away after Sorata. As I turn the key and take it out of the ignition, I wonder how he's doing. The familiar fuzzy feeling tight in my chest. Nope, that hasn't disappeared.  
  
I chuckle into the steering wheel, resting my forehead there and wondering why I feel so exhausted.  
  
I'd never have considered or even have guessed that I might possibly love anyone else.  
  
Was it worth sorting through? I remember feeling his smile through my lips even as my eyes closed. Is he worth the trouble? Or worse yet, am I?  
  
Funny, since I thought love was the one thing I wanted the most, and, of course, I find it the hardest thing to accept.  
  
***  
  
I would appreciate you knowing:  
  
I thought your love had come to stay  
  
***  
  
I pull myself up the stairs rather wearily. Finding their carpeting and their handy metal rail an interesting contrast to my memories of Goh's home. Honestly, as I unlock my apartment door (he didn't lock his), I figure I will pull off my shoes and fall asleep for a few hours at least. If I didn't sleep right through the entire evening. If I managed to stop reviewing lunch in my head. Evaluating, weighing, pondering.  
  
Of course, having the door swing open and a very pissed roommate glaring at you tends to make all romantic notions fly right out the window.  
  
"Uh, hi, Hayate?" I imitate a smile and raise my eyebrows in what I hope is an innocent and disarming greeting. I decide I must have gone about it badly when he grabs the collar of my shirt, I'm suddenly being used to close the door, and my body is rather definitely forced back against it. "Crap, you bastard." I'm a little frustrated at this point, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Me?" He rasps, knocking me back again. Damn, I absolutely hate it when he loses his temper and thinks I'm a little Keisuke-punching-bag. "Why did you tell my boss I was hung over?"  
  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I say, a bit more frantically, trying to pry his fingers from my shirt and bending my knees in an attempt to be strangled more comfortably. "Besides," I add hotly, "How the heck was I supposed to know where you were and if you were going to work when you didn't come home all night? Where were you?"  
  
"I stayed with a friend," Hayate pushes me back into the door once more before backing off.  
  
I take a moment to roll my shoulders. Smooth down my shirt, and say more nicely than he deserves, "Well, I'm glad you made it to work today. I'm sure they won't hold it against you, since you are their star employee." Then a bit more strongly, "And what do you mean exactly, you stayed with a friend? Any of our friends would have had the foresight to make you call me and say that you were there."  
  
"Damn it," Hayate pulls back his dark bangs, frustrated, "I don't need someone to always check up on me."  
  
"Well," I volley back, a bit snottily, "Welcome to the world of real friends who like to take care of each other. And do not slam them into doors. Good grief, your boss was only checking to see if you were alright, Hayate." He's wilting. There's my Hayate, five minute explosion and then guilt, guilt, guilt. "What's really bothering you this time?"  
  
Not that I can't guess.  
  
"I-I," He falters, like most sensitive guys he just does not handle feeling angry very well, "No let me finish." He interrupts me before I realize I was going to say something. "I did want to tell you, so that you wouldn't worry, I'm going to be going away for a little while. I'm still going to go to work, and I'll pay rent, and I don't know how long I'm going to be there but . . . I just wanted you to know."  
  
Now that was something I hadn't guessed.  
  
"How long?" And I skip over that question as he mutters about answering that one already, "Who with? Are you leaving a phone number?"  
  
"I really can't explain." Hayate shakes his head, and I realize that his duffle bag is leaning against my chair, stuffed full.  
  
"Is this about . . . her? Last night?" Concern overwhelming at that point, I can't take care of him if he's not around, "Apparently just walking away doesn't help terribly much. It didn't last time. Aren't you going to think about this? How's this going to look? To . . . to," I can't say bring myself to mention her name, "To Sasame?"  
  
"I'm thinking about it too much, Keisuke." Hayate sniffs in a deep breath, building resolve, then adds with a touch of finality, "And I, to be quite frank, don't give a crap how it looks anymore. Stop suspecting the worst and putting your nose where it doesn't belong."  
  
Now, I know why I don't have a degree in counseling or in persuasive speaking. He shoulders the bag and waits until I step around him, so he can leave through the door he smacked me into just a little bit before. For better or worse, neither of us says anything further.  
  
***  
  
Talking out of turn  
  
Shot to pieces  
  
When will I learn  
  
Talking out of turn  
  
Shot to pieces  
  
When will I learn  
  
***  
  
"At least, he made an effort to tell you what his plans were," The next day, Goh acts as if he expected my sudden appearance at the diner (which I learn is called "The Veteran Cosmic Rocker"-this unseen Chichiri person is simply bizarre). "And he would do that to keep you from worrying."  
  
"I'm not worried," I'm sitting on one of the peach stools, Goh is wiping down glasses fresh from washing and placing them under the counter, "I'm concerned."  
  
He laughs at that, then leans on folded arms toward me, staring at me inches from my own eyes, "I understand there is a difference, but I really don't like seeing you consumed with someone else's problems."  
  
"It's either him or you . . ." I recoil, realizing I spoke aloud, and glance at Goh anxiously, but I must have spoken softly enough because he doesn't react. He's already halfway to the register to satisfy a customer's bill. Then I'm anxious about the relief I feel. If I'm going to seriously try this, I'm going to have to be more open. Like he's been.  
  
In a strange way, I have been open. With all of my problems. Watching him pass back the customer's change, I smile reflexively at the attractive lines of his arm, his shoulders, his chest. Casual now in the diner t- shirt blazon yellow and the name in huge block letters around a guitar. Here he's just a regular guy working his way through college a few classes at a time.  
  
"Putting up with me talking about all of Hayate's issues has probably been tedious," I shrug, taking a new direction, "but thanks for listening."  
  
"You're a nice guy," He's back again, as if he never broke his attention, "I like the fact that you care about people." I'm blushing furiously, but he doesn't let on if he notices, "I want to be one of those people."  
  
"You are." I interject in a half-yelp and he laughs. It's a bit intoxicating to let go in his warm eyes, and that's just what I plan on doing. So what if it's bordering on escapism? That's okay, isn't it? When, maybe, I really mean it.  
  
"I expect you to come to me whenever you're unduly worried about someone else," He emphasizes the last word, teasing.  
  
"Concerned," I correct sheepishly, "With all the Hayate confiding I've put up with recently, I either need to become a shrink or go see one."  
  
"That's me." Goh calls back, going to the cash register again.  
  
***  
  
But I took a little more of you each day  
  
When I didn't see that I was breaking you apart  
  
With angry words of love I didn't mean  
  
Oh why, can't believe that I would ever  
  
Talk myself out of yesterday  
  
Talked like a fool to yesterday  
  
And as the evening loses color  
  
Your love began to fade away  
  
***  
  
Hayate had only been gone a few days when I found myself with a new patient.  
  
I had spent a few hours with Dorothy and Aya at Four Doors, talking about a whole lot of nothing. Something grand about having a conversation with Aya Sohma. He keeps you busy, happy and talking without any strain whatsoever.  
  
I manage to leave while the sun is still giving it's own natural light, summer quite full by that point. Accordingly, I see Himeno sitting on the hood of my car as soon as I turn the corner to go back to the Four Doors' parking lot.  
  
"Keisuke." She smiles wanly,  
  
"What's the matter, munchkin?" I'm fond of the kid, regardless of Hayate's reactions to her. Perhaps, it's because of them also.  
  
"Are you dating that other person? Goh?" She asks bluntly enough.  
  
I try to answer in kind, swallowing what doubts I have at that point and nod. Sounding confident, "Yes." I watch a serious of peculiar emotions cross her face, her soft cheeks pale even in the orange hues of the sun's soon setting.  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"Sure, I do." Hoping she doesn't notice any hesitation. I love him. I must. That's what I'm feeling, I think. It's something different. Different than what I thought love was . . . still . . .  
  
"How do you know?" The way she's sitting, she's folding her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her chin hovering just between. Eyes downcast.  
  
"Oh, come on, ask me an easy one, Himeno," I tease gently, and she looks up at me then, a little relieved I think. "I guess you don't find these are easy questions either, huh?" I lean against the car door and she has to turn her head to see me better.  
  
"I've thought of a harder one." She sounds reluctant, and I'm sure I'm unprepared for this one as well. Fidgeting a little, I figure this is how parents must feel.  
  
I nod, granting her permission, "You can ask. Don't know if I'll answer." I lift my voice to encourage a comforting aspect of cheerfulness. Of course, she asks the one question that no one ever dares to. Not even myself.  
  
"Do you love Sorata?"  
  
"Geez, Himeno, couldn't you have at least asked me for the Pope's weight or something like that?" I try to fight back my reaction to flee the conversation, start the engine and roll Himeno off the car. Trying to distract myself with that ludicrous train of thought.  
  
When I meet her eyes again, she looks surprised.  
  
"What?" I ask, confused.  
  
"I . . . I just thought you'd react differently." She then adds as if an apology, "I just don't understand people sometimes. Or what they're feeling. I'm always getting it wrong, it seems." She swings around so her feet are kicking my car's tires. "I always thought that you and Sorata would . . . I don't know what I thought. It just seemed too right and obvious."  
  
I had thought so too.  
  
"But then he's gone. I haven't seen him in ages. And you, you brought back this other person." Himeno kicks the tire with a strange determination, "How did you know to stop loving Sorata?"  
  
"I haven't." I say with my own strange detachment, somehow replacing the fears I have with a brotherly determination, "I still care for Sorata very, very much. Did you know he met someone else? That's why he isn't around as much."  
  
"Someone else?" She glances at me quickly then away again, her lip quivering. Darn it all, she's the last person I want to see cry. I pull her toward me, she slips off the car all together and I just hold her. As she sobs into my shirt, I can feel her tears pooling damp against my chest through the fabric.  
  
I mutter some fleeting reassurances, while trying to figure out why she's reacting so strongly, "Hey, tulip-head, what's the matter?"  
  
And when she sniffles even more loudly, it starts to sink in.  
  
I squeeze her shoulder, and she looks up at me, pulling back just enough to wipe at her eyes. Then uses her other hand to touch my shirt, "I'm sorry."  
  
"Hey, it's okay." I loosen my hold on her, but she doesn't go anywhere.  
  
"He's such a jerk." Suddenly, it's as if steam has evaporated her tears, the transformation to anger is so sudden. Her face darkening, but still a bit splotchy, "I spent so much time . . . loving . . . him," she spat, "But when I need him, he's never there."  
  
"Ah," I begin, but she interrupts.  
  
"He just disappears. Then I see him and he's gone in an instant. And then . . . then I just start to think that maybe he might just maybe well . . ." Her words are clipped and whistled like little firecrackers. "I'd have never . . . I don't know, maybe . . ."  
  
"Maybe what?" Then I shake off that question, "Just a moment, Himeno. You left me a few pages back in this story. You're not talking about Sorata anymore, right?"  
  
"Sorata?" And for some reason, I fortunately made her laugh, gaily, for a moment, "No, no. I had a tiny, tiny crush on him at first but he's a bit dense for that, y'know."  
  
"Um, yeah." But I'm bound and determined now not to be distracted by thinking about Sorata, "But if it's not Sorata we're talking about anymore, who is it?" I really need to hear her say it.  
  
She widens her eyes, knowing she's going to tell me and I doubt she's really told anyone before.  
  
"I'm talking about Hayate."  
  
***  
  
If I upset you  
  
I didn't mean to hurt you  
  
I didn't mean to make you cry  
  
I don't need an alibi  
  
To start me talking out of turn  
  
***  
  
She reacts so strongly to Hayate that she can't seem to manage anything besides intense love and intense hate. But, hey, who am I to judge? I can't even pin point what love is for myself. Apparently, the dynamics of their initial friendship and troublesome feelings had manifested itself through their mutual tempers. And a reluctance to be the one that would back down for the other.  
  
But my opportunity was gone, about two sentences after her confession, she became more antsy than Aya in a clothing store and rushed off.  
  
I didn't really know what to do at that point. Hayate was gone. Unreachable. And I didn't know how much good it would do to tell him anyway. How would it sound, "Hey, Himeno just mentioned that she liked you. Wanna do something about that?" Suddenly I imagined a greater quarrel being ignited if Himeno felt like the one who had caved in.  
  
Blast.  
  
It's not like loving someone is enough. There's more to it and I don't feel in any way confident in understanding what's best for someone else.  
  
Like Goh says more-or-less, this is out of my hands. I can let her drench my shirt with tears. And I can put up with Hayate . . . but there's only so much.  
  
At the same time, I'm wondering where Hayate could be. I really want to tell him. If someone had clued Sorata in, then maybe my life would be different now? I feel an old ache, an old agitation, defining itself for the first time. If everyone knew, why didn't Sorata know?  
  
"Keisuke, that's enough." The voice is very close to my ear, "It's hard to hear, but let love work itself out." I keep going back to him for comfort, and the reassuring way that he leans over me when we're talking together, reclining on that worn out mattress. Curling fingers around the back of my neck, holding onto the fabric of my shirt's sleeve, offering to take some of the burden for a while. Insisting it wasn't mine to begin with.  
  
But some of these feelings are mine. He hasn't mentioned it in a while, but Goh must remember about the someone that I've reluctantly set aside.  
  
I guess he needs to know. In order for me to even think about being his. Before I do, oddly enough, I want him to ask. Of course, now that's the one thing he doesn't bring up at all.  
  
If Himeno's a fool and if Hayate's a fool, then I'm certainly the worst of all.  
  
Goh sighs, sliding his arms up the back of my shirt and holds me close enough to let me cry on him.  
  
In a moment, I'm going to ask him if he has any beer handy. I really need one.  
  
***  
  
When I took a little loving from you  
  
I would appreciate you knowing:  
  
I thought your love had come to stay  
  
Oh I, can't believe that I would ever  
  
Let you slip through my fingers  
  
Let you escape like yesterday.  
  
When will I learn?  
  
***  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Kay: I have a soft spot for Goh, but he's definitely been showing his better side for Keisuke. He certainly has his own opinions on some of these subjects (esp. the subject of Keisuke), even if he's only been a listening ear so far. Hmm, and on the subject of happiness . . . I do have a dreadful habit of making them miserable before sorting things out. Things will probably unravel quite a bit before I sew my characters back together. Your reviews are always so encouraging!  
  
Passerby: Yes, please give Keisuke a hug. Although, Goh seems to want to fill that role right at the moment. *wink* I'm glad you think my portrayal of Keisuke is on target so far. He is very nice, but he doesn't always make the right decisions either. Thanks for being addicted, I mean: Thanks for the support. *chuckle*  
  
Veeshes: I do hope future chapters keep you entertained as well. It's incredibly reassuring that one does not need to be familiar with all the anime to still like the story, I like hearing that it's working. *bows*  
  
Next time: Actually, I cut this a bit short. Keisuke should finally be getting some news through the grapevine about Sorata and then everything, as if it weren't already, becomes very confusing for him. I still need to bring everyone up to speed on Duo, and Goh's still waiting to share some of his opinions. Oh yes, and there's always what Hayate's up to these days . . . *shakes head* thanks for reading my little soap opera. 


	14. How Many Words, How Many Times

How Many Words, How Many Times By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: The usual. This time the song is "The Voice." In this chapter, I warmed things up. Then ended up cooling them down dramatically. As you are able, enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
It's just not the same stealing cereal when there isn't a chance that you'll get caught.  
  
I turn on the television and feel guilty that no one's accusing me of being a remote hog.  
  
And there's all the other stuff. Like that huge watercolor of Himeno that's decorating the main wall of the living room. Well, Hayate's certainly left this all behind him. But I'm staring down the crusty plates and empty beer cans on the coffee table--there aren't nearly as many as when two people are making the mess.  
  
I'm a social critter. I need someone around to chatter at, if not with. It's not enough that the landlord reassures me that Hayate mailed in his half of the check.  
  
That's probably why I snatch up my keys and decide to go to the grocery store.  
  
The joint that Hayate and I used to go to together is one of those twenty- four hour places that makes you find your food, cart it around, run it through the scanner and bag it all yourself. I half expect them to pay me for a job well done after all that hassle. But it's close, it's cheap, and it's the only thing open at this ungodly hour.  
  
I'm browsing the near empty shelves and wondering what fat-saturated and teeth-rotting items seem most appealing. I've already stocked up on microwave dinners. Even though I have an open invitation to snag food from the Veteran Cosmic Rocker (I choke just thinking about that name), it feels a bit odd always eating with Goh. It seems greedy in some sense, and I'm suspecting that the food isn't coming upstairs for free.  
  
Hmm. Little Debbie's are two for one.  
  
I'm staring at the picture on the box, admiring the packaging or something equally stupid, when I almost see a slim hand picking up a similar package and balancing it midair next to me.  
  
I'm quick enough to realize that someone is trying to get my attention by mimicking me, so I play dumb. Put the box back and turn the other way, pushing the cart forward as best I can even when that stupid front wheel almost immediately gets stuck sideways and I'm propelling it forward on my own strength leaving a wicked black rub mark that some poor Joe is going to have to wipe down later. Whoops.  
  
Of course, distracted by that, I'm caught by my shadow.  
  
"Ah, what are you doing here?" I can't help but blink a few times. This time I'm sure I'm dreaming.  
  
Sylvia folds her arms and looks away, just turning her blue-green eyes to the side. "I didn't expect to see you here either. I was just . . . out."  
  
Can you tell me why I'm so gosh darn nervous around her? A strange unseen fist has started squeezing around my heart and refuses to let my blood circulate any longer. I still have my fingers curled around the shopping cart handle, and they're turning purple. I swear.  
  
"Me too." Somehow, my face manages to stay mobile and I slap on a halfway sloppy grin. Conversation. Conversation, where is it? What do normal people talk about when they simply happen across each other in the grocery store? "How's, ah, how are Heero and Hilde?"  
  
"Good." Her eyebrows relax a little and she looks back at me for a moment, "Heero's still burning rubber at the track on weekends. They got his car back together and he's doing well enough."  
  
I nod a bit too enthusiastically, "Okay. How's . . . the career?"  
  
"On hold," Sylvia's shoulder's droop a little. Even though she initiated all of this, it doesn't seem like she's planned much past revealing herself. "I decided to spend more time just at home. Things . . . came up."  
  
"Okay." I've said that twice and that's too many times already. "Er . . ." I finally settle on asking about her family when she beats me to it.  
  
"How's your family?"  
  
I pry my fingers from the cart and run them through my hair. This is getting easier. Each time I meet Sylvia it's this same strange process of unraveling multiple walls of discomfort. "Let's see." I stroke my chin, letting my tone become more playful, "Miaka's still seeing that same fellow she's always been seeing. Except he's become a cult porno director and she's starring in his next film. Mom has a walk-on . . . or should I say a strut on . . . ?"  
  
Now she's looking at me, her lips curling in what might have been the beginning of a snicker, "You're so crass, Keisuke."  
  
"My mother thought about naming me that at first. Crass Yuuki." Teasing I can accomplish. I feint as if I'm going to box her into the aisle while reaching for some unimportant canned good, but she doesn't move.  
  
"What are you up to these days?" Her face turns up and it's much too close, I'm unable to look at her all at once gazing into one eye at a time. "Have you managed to capture the heart of your Sorata, yet?"  
  
Oh dear. I close my eyes from the proximity hiding them in another exaggerated smile, "Heck no. Haven't you heard? Sorata's off the market." I toss the can into the cart, whatever it is. Too late to put it back really, I guess I'm buying. "He found a 2 for 1 bargain."  
  
"Oh, I . . ." Her voice catches with genuine sympathy, I recognize it and try to brush it aside. "Are you . . .?"  
  
"Off the market?" I laugh and I'm about to speak again, when she interrupts.  
  
"Are you alright?" Her thin eyebrows are doing that funny thing where they turn up in the middle. Demonstrating an apology and emphasizing the question all at once.  
  
This isn't really a conversation for the grocery store, at this hour it's empty enough that our words sound hollow and I can hear the back round buzz of the enormous lights from the distant ceiling. "I can deal. Besides, I'm sort of seeing someone else. Some new cutie going through college and who has one hell of a great body."  
  
"You are so shallow." She says without any punch behind it. I vaguely remember that Sylvia can land a verbal smack if she wants to. She must be tired at this late hour, or wilting, or she doesn't care.  
  
"No," I pick up one of the box dinners, "This is shallow. But enough about me, how about you? Found anyone new yet?" That's what this conversation is all about, crude inquiries about what otherwise might be serious stuff all while in the canned good sections of the 24 hour grocer.  
  
"I'm sort of seeing some new fellow who is going through college and who has one hell of a great body."  
  
I feel that one, and mock-wince. Somehow, we're both managing to converse without touching a live emotion, "Really? Maybe it's the same guy?"  
  
She slaps my shoulder, letting her soft little lips drop open in pink-hued surprise. "I'd certainly hope not. You and this guy thing again. I thought Sorata was a phase. But I was wrong about that."  
  
I shrug. "We both were."  
  
"So," Sylvia says with a decisive lift to her voice, "I need to visit the brownie aisle. Want to come with?"  
  
"Rich double chocolate, here we come."  
  
When we parted ways at the self-serve checkout lines, it felt like a very, very peculiar dream. As if I would wake up to my alarm and find out it was Tuesday all on it's own. The rest had been me dreaming of a conversation I had been dreading would come. But the extra brownie mix and can of pumpkin pie filling in the cupboard stare back at me in the morning and give me a queer feeling. Okay, I'm never going to the grocery store after eleven at night. It's just too weird.  
  
***  
  
Each and every heart it seems  
  
Is bounded by a world of dreams  
  
Each and every rising sun  
  
Is greeted by a lonely one  
  
***  
  
I wouldn't have dreamed up my little plan, except that I was sincerely trying to avoid the trip back to my solitary apartment at all costs. After putting my eight hours plus at the pet store, I drive most of the way home before spinning back and pulling behind the atmospheric restaurant Goh lives above. I'm not sure what he is up to, but I need an accomplice.  
  
Stakeouts are no fun all alone. No decent walkie-talkie action if you're prowling all on your own. And I can't invite anyone else, because no one else knows.  
  
I slip into the back door, nothing at this place is ever locked I've discovered. I'm instantly washed by whatever smell constitutes the more popular evening meals. It always sticks to my clothes, but Goh's somehow found a way to shrug it off. He never smells like grease and too much food, nor when I first saw him at the Transylvanian Concubine.  
  
Interesting. But ever since that first night I invited Goh to the Four Doors, he hasn't gone back to his old stomping grounds. I haven't either. Almost as if meeting each other was enough, and the fantastical place had served it's purpose. I almost swoon over my own over idealized romantic notions. Sap, always makes my tongue thick.  
  
"Oh, hey, Keisuke."  
  
I half wave at Tasuki and sit on the end stool. "How's it going?"  
  
"Same ol', same ol'." Tasuki has this sinister grin when he's happy. It's partially like he's snarling and part like he's going to bite your head off. Affectionately. The positive key is that he's smiling. When those same lips are pressed into a thin line. That's when one should worry. The red-headed guy has an eruptible temper the size of a small volcano.  
  
"Is Goh around?"  
  
"Upstairs." Tasuki finishes handing the customer her change and strolls down to my end, wiping his hands off on the edge of the apron. "It's his night off, both from work and classes. Been shut upstairs all day, and I'm sure he'd be re-e-ally pleased to see you." His narrow eyes pulling up to one corner innocently study the ceiling, lips pursing into a nonchalant whistle with no sound.  
  
I can't believe he's suggesting what he's suggesting. Then I'm wondering who gave him that idea. And then I'm realizing that I hope he's right.  
  
"Upstairs?" I manage to croak.  
  
"Upstairs." But I'm halfway up them by that point, not far enough away to miss the bloke's insane laughter.  
  
"Goh?" I rap my knuckles against the door. I know it's also unlocked like every other entryway at this joint, but I feel extra obligated to respect them because of that.  
  
"Hey . . . gorgeous." He opens the door and looks a bit weary, but content. "Come in."  
  
"What's up?" I slip past him, boxing his chin affectionately. He's definitely not dressed for going out, barefoot in some funny dark blue cotton pants and a large tank-top. As if he never got out of his bedclothes. "Studying?" There are mathematical equations spread all over the table where we would eat together.  
  
"Exams in a couple weeks." Goh sinks into the easy chair, literally. It almost swallows him whole, but his eyes still follow me as I shuffle through the leaves of paper.  
  
"You work really hard," Once again, I'm impressed. "Maybe I shouldn't bother you?" I frown, studying him with all seriousness.  
  
"No, no, no." He watches from underneath his fingers, pressing into his brow, "I need to get out. Where did you want to go?"  
  
"I had an idea, but if you'd rather stay in . . ." I cross over to lean into him with both arms bracing on either side. Leaning in closer to almost kiss him and close my eyes. He always smells so distinctly different than every place, than everyone else.  
  
He growls, standing and forcing me back upright while wrapping his arms around me in a tight grip. His face drooping against my shoulder, breathing into my neck. "I've been here all day. Going out sounds good. If you're coming?"  
  
"Yes." I tone down the reflexive squeak, but just barely. Gee, and I thought I'd try to pull a move on him.  
  
'What'd you have in mind?" His lips are very, very close to my ear, and it takes a bit of concentrating to reconstruct those same words into my memory and make sense of them.  
  
"Er, well," I'm growing warm and I know my ears are not simply blazing because he's breathing near them, "I was hoping, maybe, you'd want to go help me spy on Hayate?" First, there's the unexpected increase in his body's pressure as he falls more heavily against my shoulder. "I've got these great commando communication devices. I can teach you Morse code." Next, I can feel the chuckle rumbling in his chest before I hear it.  
  
The rumble almost distracting me from it. It being an almost unheard confession, sounding quite a bit like a reluctantly persuaded, "I love you."  
  
Before I can do anything at all, Goh pulls back, "Fine. Fine." At last, kissing me but quickly. "So are you going to dress me, or what?"  
  
And whatever it had been--had been--and passed.  
  
***  
  
Won't you lay it on the line  
  
I need to hear it just one more time  
  
***  
  
While I'm stationing myself just outside the main doors of the junior college art building, I'm reflecting. Reflecting just a bit too much on the way that Goh'll just drop everything for me.  
  
I peek around the bush. We're still early, and Hayate's motorcycle would be easily heard before I need to pull out the binoculars. I look anyway, fidgeting. I look primarily because I insisted Goh crouch behind the landscaping on the other side of the main entrance. I look because I want to remind myself that he's really there. He came. And, it's suddenly very important to me that he's not upset that he's sitting on a bunch of fallen and dried pine needles. The front door to this place is cut into the corner, so while I'm on my side, the most I can see of him is one leg.  
  
"How's it going, Rogue Two?" I whisper into the device that one of my mother's many boyfriends had given to me for some special occasion or other. I was never one to turn down free gifts, or feel the obligatory gratitude for more than ten sincere minutes.  
  
"Don't forget to say "over," over." Goh's voice scratches through the poor quality transmission. It's almost easier just to pick out his voice from the distance of no more than fifteen feet.  
  
The same voice that might have said something that suspiciously sounded like he was saying that he loved me. Half of this anxiety I'm feeling is not the adrenaline of the hunt, it's . . . something else.  
  
I peek again, when the walkie-talkie suddenly crackles.  
  
"Heck, Keisuke *crackle* just get your butt over here." Then as if an after thought, the device spews more static, "Over."  
  
I pop up, glance around and, seeing no one, dart over to his side. I must look like a royal fool because he's giving me that stupefied expression again. I sit next to him, back balancing against the concrete bottom of the red brick building. "So what's the objective of this mission again?" Goh says, and I wiggle a little indicating he should still keep his voice down. It's a thrill to avoid being seen, but being caught at our ages would embarrass even Keisuke Yuuki.  
  
"To make sure Hayate's okay." I glance over my shoulder at his profile, admiring his darker skin. Tilting my head, I wonder if he has any exotic ancestry to explain his natural attractiveness.  
  
He sighs, then pulls me close with his near arm, "Okay. I suppose that's enough of a reason."  
  
My knees are pulled up, even as his are stretched out. He insisted on wearing his heavier boots and I'm watching as the toes of the shoes are tilting outward from each other. I'm so bored by this point I'm mesmerizing myself just by staring at Goh's shoes.  
  
"Hey," He whispers into my ear, and I jerk at first, startled from my inner revelry. Goh pulls his legs in, "Listen."  
  
He has good ears, or he's at least more attentive than I was in those moments, because I easily hear Hayate's voice.  
  
"It's the least I can do, Hayate." That second voice definitely is not my disappeared roommate's. I peer the best I can around and through our camouflage to see the girl that is with him. I feel Goh pulling gently on the back of my shirt, but I'm insatiably curious. The girl's voice rolling, alto and vixen-like. Is this how Hayate's been distracting himself?  
  
But all I can see are their feet, and a great deal more of the girl's legs than I expected.  
  
"I shouldn't stay much long . . ."  
  
"See how you feel when you're finished," Suddenly their feet are very close together. And her alto turns saucy. "Don't make any hasty decisions now. I have plenty of room to take you in."  
  
Uh, I'm sure she didn't mean it that way. I shake my head. God, my mind is one track all of a sudden.  
  
"Uh," Hayate's guttural response perfectly mimics the one in my head. And she laughs lyrically, as if intonating a song. Pitched to match her own playful identity.  
  
"I'm just teasing, Hayate. Have fun." She's on tip-toe a moment and then skips off. Hayate's shoes scuffle on the sidewalk, the door opens and he disappears as it closes.  
  
"Mission accomplished." I sink back, and only then does Goh free his hand from my shirt. "What a thrill, huh?" I lean back into his shoulder, and he twists to face me, pausing only to brush off a few pine needles.  
  
"Did you recognize her?" He lifts his eyes to mine, opening them a bit wider than usual in his surprise.  
  
"I couldn't really see more than almost all of her leg," I shrug, a bit unnerved by his reaction.  
  
He shakes his dark head and pulls his fingers through one side of his overgrown hair, red dyed strands curling out from between them. "That's the girl from the club, Keisuke. And if your pal Hayate is staying with Shiori, then that's more like bad news."  
  
"Shiori?" I try the name on my tongue, and find that my mouth is dry with uncertainty.  
  
***  
  
'Cos out on the ocean of life my love  
  
There's so many storms we must rise above  
  
Can you hear the spirit calling  
  
As it's carried across the waves  
  
You're already falling  
  
It's calling you back to face the music  
  
And the song that is coming through  
  
You're already falling  
  
The one that it's calling is you  
  
***  
  
"Define 'bad'." I ask.  
  
We're back at my apartment that only recalls Hayate more strongly because he's absent from his things. His art. Goh picks up one of the series in the cartwheel and sets it back, meeting my eyes from across the open countertop in the kitchen.  
  
"Well, maybe not bad as in awful." He brings it back by degrees, and, of course, I can't help but wonder if he's doing that to sooth me from any further anxieties. "She doesn't coerce people to anything they aren't inclined to already."  
  
"Inclined to?" I feel a chilly concern, and the snap in my voice comes a bit more icily than I intended. Simply because I can't seem to unclench my jaw. I wanted to know what Hayate was up to, and now I'm not really appreciating my half-knowledge.  
  
Goh disappears and I follow him to where he reclines in what is usually my chair. I sit on the far end of Hayate's couch. Awkwardly, since I don't know what's coming.  
  
"I'm going to tell you." He says finally, and unlike me, he sounds normal. Like normal Goh. "I actually came out here with Shiori."  
  
This is one of those stories where I start by sitting with a semi- perplexed/semi-disinterested feeling and try not to reflexively fall into a defensive, deep sleep.  
  
"I met her back in Washington and we hit it off, strangely enough. I was tired of being the noble eldest son with such high expectations, and Shiori offered a bit of excitement. A bit of danger. Something that appealed to me . . . once. I needed to escape, I had pretty much screwed up my education at the university there and lost quite a bit of respect from the faculty."  
  
He's watching me the whole time he talks, and it's a bit unnerving, his stare. But oddly enough, nothing he says makes him feel any different than the person I was getting to know. As if he is simply coloring in the corners.  
  
"Here it's different though. Instead of destroying the perfect world set up for my parent's faultless son, I found myself on the bottom from the start. With this crazy idea that, maybe I didn't want to be there in her world." He leans forward, dropping his hands between his knees. "That I wanted to go back to school. That letting loose didn't have to mean disgracing myself. That caring for other people could actually be attractive."  
  
I realize I've matched his own posture in my corner. A flutter in my stomach.  
  
"Hayate may slip, but if what you say about him is right, Keisuke. He'll come around." Goh lifts an eyebrow, and I gather it's my turn to say something.  
  
"So how did things end with you and Shiori?" I ask, feeling vaguely uneasy having to inquire, but not threatened.  
  
"Badly," Goh chuckles, "Very badly. I think we've managed to settle on mutually despising each other. We used to have these juvenile sparring matches on the dance floor at Transylvania stealing each other's partners."  
  
"Um," I remember something, "You don't think she settled on Hayate because of what happened that one night?"  
  
"Hmm?" Goh thinks for a moment, "She's not that vindictive."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah," He nods, sounding more certain even as his confidence drains in part from his expression. Then he shakes his head as if clearing it, "She shouldn't have any reason to bother Hayate more than he allows. She didn't scar me."  
  
When I look up again, he's next to me leaning over just before sitting next to me. "Hayate'll recoup away from everything, but sooner rather than later he'll remember who his real friends are. She has a way of bringing people back to their senses in a round-about way."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"And you, Keisuke," He teases, "Have such a charmingly innocent way of knocking all sense out of me." Ruffling my hair he adds absently, "Who else could convince me to play covert commando at this age?"  
  
I half want him to say what he said earlier again just so I can be sure. I half want to push him back on the couch and show him a different urge that covert commando Keisuke was feeling since I saw him first that afternoon. Instead I say most practically, "Don't you have to study?" I lift a finger.  
  
"Yeah, right." Goh chuckles and tries to distract me with his nose almost brushing mine.  
  
"I'm sure you have to work tomorrow, I do." I lift another finger. He's smiling broadly while not looking at me because everything I've said is terribly true.  
  
"Sleep is overrated, we're still young."  
  
"You are." I hold up a third finger, "But I . . ."  
  
I really can't dream up a good enough reason.  
  
See, my defenses are practically dismantled. They had been since I thought I heard what Goh might have said. I don't care if he's been with that other girl, because he left her all on his own. We met entirely on our own.  
  
He smells uniquely Goh, and a bit like dried pine needles. It's rather intoxicating, even as I hustle him down the hall toward my room.  
  
There is no reason to make him leave really.  
  
He catches me against the wall and pushes me back into it with a bit more forcefulness in his body and his roaming fascination with kissing my neck. It's different than when Hayate would angrily decorate the wall with my form. Trying something, I push back, rolling us around, and Goh lets me reverse our positions.  
  
He grins as I pause uncertain what to do now that I'm holding him there. He just waits for me to initiate something more.  
  
That smile softens a little as I lean back, giving breathing space. Honestly, trying to catch my breath. I'm a bit afraid to look into his eyes, because I know what he said and what that look does mean.  
  
Just to our left. Just in the place where I turn my eyes. I see that picture from last summer. The one that Hayate took. Of me. And Sorata.  
  
I think I see where I went wrong. I might adore Sorata. But love? When love can really be reciprocated, I can't hold on to anything else.  
  
Putting my palms against Goh's chest, I turn back to him wondering. Wondering what's suddenly so different.  
  
"I . . ." I'm stammering and darn it, he's narrowing his eyes. But gently.  
  
"This time I'm going to get it right." He says, and taking my face with both hands kisses me as gently as if we'd never touched before.  
  
***  
  
Make a promise take a vow  
  
And trust your feelings it's easy now  
  
Understand the voice within  
  
And feel the changes already beginning  
  
***  
  
I really couldn't dream up a good reason to stop what we'd started. So the universe gives me one.  
  
No one ever thinks to turn their phone off.  
  
"Going to answer that?" Goh teases. We're still in the shadows of the hallway, not making much progress but I'm finding something very sincere inside myself.  
  
'I suppose," This is my voice, but I'm not quite sure how I manage much coherency at this point, "I should. Um, where's the phone?"  
  
"This is your house," Goh hold me out at arm length, then as if thinking better of it steps up near me again.  
  
"Oh yeah," I pretend to frown, then reluctantly trot down the hall into the kitchen and pick up the phone. Hours had passed since our adventures began that afternoon, and anyone calling me this late had better have a splendidly important excuse.  
  
"Hello." I'm breathless still.  
  
"Keisuke?"  
  
"Yes?" I'm struggling to place the voice. Which is difficult to do when one of Goh's arms has snaked around my chest from behind.  
  
"It's Dorothy."  
  
"Right, right." Why the heck is Dorothy calling me? I roll my shoulders, feebly trying to free myself from the extra distraction.  
  
"You haven't been around lately." She starts, but her words cause all of my attention onto them. Each one simple but specifically rehearsed.  
  
"True." I say, only to indicate that she did have my attention.  
  
"So I thought I should fill you in."  
  
"Fill me in already." I'm grateful that Goh's there.  
  
"Sasame was hoping that you'd come."  
  
"Dorothy." I hear my tone darkening, because it's fearful. "I can imagine more terrible things if you keep stalling. Telling me would simplify it all."  
  
"It's Sylvia's . . . father." Dorothy sighs heavily, "He's dead."  
  
"Excuse me?" I say softly. Remembering her as I saw her last, all casual and just as awkward as I was--given the circumstances of happening across each other at the grocery store. The distanced way that we tried to assess each other's romantic ties if there wasn't one between us anymore.  
  
"The funeral is Thursday." She turns to share the specific details. Mr. Noventa was an older man, but they were still exploring the exact causes of his death.  
  
"Was there something suspicious?" I say, staying cool. Any investigation could bring about trouble for their family since they already were well- known in the local public news.  
  
"It's not certain," She replies with almost clinical accuracy, "But it wasn't foul play, that much they have said."  
  
"Thank you for telling me." It's simply enough said, "Is the visitation tomorrow?"  
  
"I think they're having a brief gathering at their home. I'm sure you would be welcome there."  
  
"I'll be at both. Thanks." Neither of us says good-bye. Some conversations are best left as such.  
  
***  
  
And how many words have I got to say  
  
And how many times will it be this way  
  
With your arms around the future  
  
And your back up against the past  
  
You're already falling it's calling you  
  
On to face the music  
  
and the song that is coming through  
  
You're already falling  
  
The one that it's calling is you  
  
***  
  
It's strangely distant. I wake up. Roll a bit, roll over and there is Goh. He's breathing with his mouth quite open, topless but borrowing a pair of my little used pajama bottoms. He seems to like them.  
  
The first thought I have is, Mr. Noventa is dead.  
  
He's sleeping on his side, with the bottom arm curling up under the pillow. His free arm reaching toward me. I must have been connected to him before. Somehow sleeping under his embrace without even noticing.  
  
I notice we're breathing simultaneously. Breathing is essential for living. When you die, you don't have to do that anymore.  
  
His hair, which has only gotten longer as I've known him is awfully tangled. Asleep he clicks his jaw shut and pulls the free arm in closer to his chest. I'm not there any longer. I'm surprised I was able to sleep with someone else in my bed. It's not something that I do often, and haven't for quite a long while.  
  
I wonder what Mrs. Noventa thought when she woke up today. Did she expect her husband there?  
  
I have to call the store. I'm not going in. Unless every single customer in this world learned to behave themselves overnight, I don't think I'd be able to function with my typical Keisuke Yuuki cheerfulness. Little things like a bag of chew bones being one short compared to the others seem very unimportant right now.  
  
I don't know what Goh plans on doing. Last night he mentioned among other things that Chichiri would understand. And that his classes weren't that important. The first I believe, the latter-not so much so. From the work I saw on his table turned desk, I know he works diligently and I'm not ready to disrupt that needlessly. Or too frequently.  
  
Mr. Noventa passed away.  
  
That funny feeling again. I know the world outside is too busy to realize, or remember that fact for very long. But I'm almost seeing something important. I'm almost understanding something about myself. Oddly enough.  
  
I can call work later. And I'll let Goh sleep just a little bit longer.  
  
I put my head against the pillow and realize that our breathing is still in the same rhythm. As if nothing had changed. Nothing disturbed.  
  
I'm not ready for him to hear me, but with these new concerns brought to mind, I can try. I can practice, mouthing the words, "I love you."  
  
***  
  
Oh won't you tell me again  
  
Can you feel it  
  
Won't you tell me again  
  
Tonight  
  
***  
  
It's more unnerving to see everyone dressed so somberly.  
  
Not that everyone had a dark cloud following them. For a gathering of mourners, no one is mourning. That has always perplexed me about such occasions. If my mother, or God forbid, Miaka had died I would have been a wreck. As it is, I'm probably the closest to tears of all of us. And for all the time I spent with Sylvia, I only saw her father on a few occasions.  
  
Saitou sits in one corner, smoking without anyone's complaint. Mr. Noventa might have not been his biological father, but he came back from his station as soon as they knew. Mr. Noventa had passed away Monday night. While Sylvia and I were in the grocery store.  
  
Sylvia has her public personality on and I hardly recognize her as she slips from one circle of conversation to the next. Making sure everyone is comfortable and happy, of all things. She only seems to let the masks slip when she's with Heero and Hilde who watch her very carefully and protectively. Hilde even leaves Heero's side to link with Sylvia's elbow and to assist her with the circuit of political obligations.  
  
I'm not quite sure where to put myself, and insanely entertain myself for about five minutes with the idea of becoming a Keisuke-coat-rack and hiding myself under the various raincoats and jackets. Appropriately enough, as soon as I left to join the family and close friends at Sylvia's home, the clouds rolled in and began sprinkling the ground with additional gloom. I really don't know if I'm helping matters.  
  
It helps that Sasame and Himeno arrive shortly after I did.  
  
"Keisuke." Himeno says simply, glancing at Sasame with a fleeting look of nervousness. But Sasame immediately goes to Sylvia, only distracted for a moment by giving Saitou a brief address of sympathy. "I'm not terribly good at these things."  
  
"I can't say that I have much experience either. Except in Sylvia's family." I try not to sound too jovial even as I try to lighten things for Himeno, "I was around when her grandfather died and her grandmother. It's uncanny how similar these occasions are."  
  
"I barely remember my mother's funeral." Himeno whispers, and it doesn't seem right to speak much more loudly. "I wanted to forget the whole affair and simply remember her my own way."  
  
"I hear you, kiddo." Adding my heartfelt agreement, "But they say that these ceremonies are important for some people, or at least for some inexplicable reason we can't quite sense on the surface."  
  
"To finalize things, and move on." Himeno suggests. She's wearing a simple black dress with a lacy collar flattering her shoulders and neck. She looks splendid and I tell her so. A rosy tint spreads out from her nose and covers her cheeks. "Thank you." She adds, "I came to support Sasame. He really liked Mr. Noventa."  
  
I want to ask more about why they came together, but, of course, the time isn't appropriate for that. Time seems terribly consumed by the heavy weight of the atmosphere of the hall. The same shining red woods as at the party weeks before, but now leaving a more somber impression upon us all.  
  
The funeral will be brief and less demanding. And Goh will be there. He'd accepted my alternate plan that he spend his Wednesday as normal and excuse himself for the briefer memorial service the following day. Watching as his just awake expression had shifted from slightly confused and disagreeing to persuaded and persistent. I'm not going to start being irresponsible with his willing companionship.  
  
I'm distracted a moment when I see Saitou rise to greet one of the next visitors. A shorter fellow in uniform like Sylvia's older brother. Wiry dark hair curling out from under the cap worn during their full military dress. He's a stranger I haven't met before. Very squarely shaped face and dark, deep set eyes. He stands out in the same way that Saitou does, except Saitou knows how to place himself into the shadows and out of the public's attention. They both go to Sylvia where introductions are made, the newcomer bowing a fraction to honor her loss.  
  
"Keisuke." Himeno whispers, nudging me slightly. I glance down at her, when I immediately realize that she had intended to warn me of something coming from the other way. I turn back and I'm . . .  
  
I stand straighter, "Hello, Sorata."  
  
***  
  
Each and every heart it seems  
  
Is bounded by a world of dreams  
  
Each and every rising sun  
  
Is greeted by a lonely lonely one  
  
***  
  
Kay: Glad to hear from you, as always! I'm relieved that Keisuke and Goh's feelings are coming through as sincere. Especially, since Keisuke has to redefine how he's looking at the world in order to include Goh into it. He also had all those years to make Sorata the center of it, which will probably be hard for Keisuke to shake off no matter how well he thinks he's doing so far. *shrugs* I'm never certain what's going to happen from one chapter to the next, so we're both along for the ride. *grin*  
  
Kathy: Thank you for the review! I'm so glad that people are reading and enjoying all of the characters (even if they have to be filtered through Keisuke). I like Hayate a lot myself, he's such the noble brooding sort. Like Kiena said, Pretear characters don't get a lot of exposure in fics, so I'm glad you've attached to both Hayate and Goh.  
  
Until next time.  
  
***commercial break***  
  
Just in case any of you are absolute Keisuke nuts like me and read every single fic that someone smuggles him into (yeah FF.net search engine!) . . . I wanted to let you know that my friend Karin-sama wrote a chibi-neko fic with Keisuke in it. Um, if you read it you'll probably notice that she wrote it with every intention of making *me!* blush furiously through the entire thing. She succeeded. The story is "Greener Pastures" at http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=929104 since it's part of a series, you may or may not want to read the first chapters of her story at http://karinsama.blogspot.com/ 


	15. You're Always Sorry

You're Always Sorry By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I went away for the weekend and was just itching with story ideas. I come home, exhausted. Sit down to type at long last and then . . . nothing. *sigh* Another one of those life experiences I guess. Characters-not mine. Lyrics-not mine. Where did little pessimist Jillian come from? My apologies. *bows* Better chapters will come. Anyway, here is chapter . . . er, 14? Something like that. Much thanks to Alithea for the help to boost me past the dreaded writer's block. Enjoy!!)  
  
***  
  
After inadvertently staring at the sun, I am always fascinated how, by blinking, I can still see the image of that brightness burned into my vision wherever I turn.  
  
Seeing Sorata now is a little bit like that.  
  
Funeral atmosphere must be engaging the little poetic spot on my soul that is sore today. We're entertaining some idle, visitation-esque conversation. How has the weather been holding up? How's work, oh fine style chit-chat. I'm glad you're here, me too. Of course, I'm thoroughly unconscious through the entire thing. Blinking mostly.  
  
My first rational thought, even though I'm performing quite well I must admit since it seems no one's noticed I've fallen back on autopilot-anyway, my first rational thought is that I should no longer react this way. But after not seeing Sorata every evening for the past few weeks, I'm a bit taken back by the familiar dip of his neck into the yellow shirt, hidden for the occasion under a black suit top. How his cheek bones are so prominent and his jaw so limber during speech. Features that I'd been intoxicated with, familiar with, adoring of.  
  
Damn crush.  
  
Of course, Himeno elbows me gently while I roll my shoulders, missing the question.  
  
"I'm sorry." I rub the back of my neck, feeling the rising temperature there and extremely grateful that it seems to have satisfied itself with just turning the lower portion of my hair into a damp sweat.  
  
"I was curious if you knew who the Chinese guy is that they're talking to." Sorata shuffles his weight from one leg to the other, causing the tails of his suit to accent his hip. Trust Sorata of anyone to wear a jacket with tails to Mr. Noventa's wake, and look so damn clueless and sexy in them.  
  
I remember to look. By the hos devours stands a young couple conversing with Heero and Hilde. They are clearly from the Noventa's circle of aristocratic friends. The gentleman in question apparently listening to Hilde's conversation, but his eyes scan the crowds as if scrutinizing everyone's relevance with one appraising look. His black hair reflects the somber light even as it is pulled back from his forehead into a severe rat- tail. The woman next to him twirls the end of her honey-brown hair around one finger, digging her toe into the hardwood floor in school girl fashion while trying to engage Heero in the conversation. Heero managing to scowl quite becomingly at the attention.  
  
Distracted by the scene, I find myself regaining my immediate five senses. Intuiting first that Sorata is standing very close, feeling the breath of his silent chuckle. Then I ask, "Heero and Hilde, you mean?"  
  
"I think he played intramurals with Heero, Duo and I back in the day." Sorata tips his head to look over and down at me. "Chang something or other like that."  
  
"The prudish sportsman?" I recollect some distant conversation about him.  
  
"Gently now," Sorata laughs respectful of the setting, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. "Chang made sure we played fair and by the book. He's the one that would turn all red when the ref missed a call. He should have been the ref."  
  
I'm vaguely recalling feeling very damp watching them play soccer or some other sport. Sylvia had always gone to their games armed with umbrellas. Which is how she came to know us all. And because of her, we should all know each other. And come to her father's funeral.  
  
Sorata excuses himself to extend his sympathy to the family. I watch him for a moment, his unbound hair loose in natural black spikes. Comfortably keeping one hand in his pocket even as he walks toward Sylvia and her brother.  
  
"You did good." Himeno says, and I realize that I had hardly been aware of her presence the entire time.  
  
I have yet to shake this instinctual desire to become absorbed in Sorata and his well being whenever I see him. Something even Goh hasn't quite freed me from, I realize with a shadow of guilt at the thought.  
  
***  
  
You're always sorry,   
  
You're always grateful,   
  
You're always wondering what might have been.   
  
***  
  
I'm already pulling off my tie as I close the apartment door behind me. Turning on the light, but not before the pathetic glow of the fish tank reminds me that I haven't fed them in a while. That had been Hayate's chore. When we'd split the tasks somehow he had taken the fish feeding while I had been drafted to vacuum those portions of the carpet not already being occupied by our organized mess. All the other common chores were spontaneously indulged when we couldn't ignore them any longer.  
  
I break the flakes between my fingers and dust the surface of the water. Too weary to enjoy the frantic appreciation of their quickly moving tails as each and every one of them swims to the top.  
  
I had stayed long enough to show support and offer it. But Sylvia wasn't one to need much assistance when she was in the limelight. That was always her opportunity to demonstrate independence.  
  
The only message is from Goh, hastily reassuring me and half informing me to expect him at the actual funeral the next day. I sink heavily into the foot of my bed. Which someone, not me, had taken the time to make that morning. Come to think of it, quite a bit of the apartment had looked neater as I reflect back on the mostly cleared coffee table, the wiped down countertops in the kitchen, and the piles of "organized mess" that were stacked with lined corners and edges. It all begins to sink in.  
  
I know that Hayate wouldn't have bothered even if he had stopped back by the apartment. It must have been Goh who'd tidied everything in record time.  
  
Stretching full onto my bed, I pull in close the pillow he had used. Strangely comforting that smell.  
  
But now, I don't really want to think about it.  
  
***  
  
Everything's different,   
  
Nothing's changed, Only maybe slightly Rearranged.   
  
You're sorry-grateful, Regretful-happy  
  
***  
  
It is the day of the funeral, appropriately grey and dismal, and I'm standing about twenty feet from where the pastor is giving final words before the military salute, the playing of the trumpet, and they lower the coffin into the ground. The gathering today smaller, more intimate. Immediate family and the most sincere of friends.  
  
The Noventa's have a section of land on a hill over looking a winding country road parallel to a winding country river. Even Sylvia and her brother have tombstones waiting for them. An investment that unnerves me when I know that all it takes is a chisel to fill in the date after the recorded year of their birth.  
  
The pile of roses are being distributed between the younger children. Sylvia's cousins. Mr. Noventa's nieces and nephews. The weather is turning a bit too warm and humid. I'm wilting like the flowers.  
  
"Ready to go home?" Goh whispers, glancing down his angularly upturned nose. Reminding me a bit of Sorata's casual appraisal of me the night before. How can the same look from two different people mean nothing the same? "You seem really tired, Keisuke." He reaches out to feel my forehead. "Well, you don't appear to be experiencing the symptoms of fever."  
  
I try to smile at that, managing to get an unsteady twitch in one cheek. A nervous tick under my right eye. "I feel rather drained." The immediate family are beginning to clump together and file to their vehicles. Sylvia far away the entire time under her black umbrella which Saitou's friend was holding for her as they neared their limo.  
  
"I'd imagine so," Goh pulls me under his arm, "You've been putting this entire misfortune on your shoulders for too many hours now."  
  
I'm about to suggest we go home, when I see Sylvia's great-aunt sitting alone watching the abandoned casket waiting for everyone to leave before sinking into it's final resting place.  
  
"Hi." I say, sinking into the nearest empty seat, leaving Goh with Sasame and the others. Her silver-blue hair almost the same color as her skin in the reflected light of the tarp, set up as a shelter and canopy over the gravesite. The folding chair is cold, and I perch on the end of it. Wrapping the toe of one shoe around the other ankle, folding both of my legs under the seat.  
  
She puts one paper light hand onto my closest knee and pats it solemnly, "Tell me Keisuke, why wasn't it me? Why not me?" She closes her eyes, withering eyelashes softly resting over her already ghost white cheeks.  
  
Putting my hand over hers, I don't know what to say. What do you say to that? Always the good questions are the hardest ones to answer.  
  
We wait until one of her other relatives remembers to come for her. I help her out of the chair and watch as they impatiently stay two paces in front of her own ginger steps. Trying to lift the metal walker one step at a time.  
  
Linking his arm through mine, pressing his shoulder into my back, Goh doesn't seem surprised as I say dryly, "I need to go get drunk."  
  
"Four Doors?"  
  
"Transylvania." I feel a wash of agitation, directed nowhere and everywhere.  
  
Checking his watch, Goh says without emotion, "They're not open just yet. But I'll drive."  
  
***  
  
Why look for answers where none occur?   
  
You always are what you always were,   
  
Which has nothing to do with,   
  
All to do with her.   
  
***  
  
When I'm disagreeable, it's a bit hard to temper. I have very little practical experience with irritation. The complaints from the store serve more to amuse or inconvenience me by demonstrating how an angry customer can single-handedly undermine the one person willing to help. Mishearing every word that I say, misconstruing my assistance until it matches the insult they're imagining.  
  
One woman mistook the coupon I gave her as an extra charge on top of her purchase. That had caught me so off guard I hadn't been able to sensibly explain the nature of a 'discount' to her before she'd forced her way through the sliding glass entryway since it obviously wasn't opening fast enough for her.  
  
My problem. Not being able to manipulate the universe. Not being able to keep people from dying, growing old, making mistakes. Then I'm bitter that I even thought I could make a difference.  
  
Wiser than he can know, Goh doesn't say much and lets me brood.  
  
Somehow, between the hours that I began to stare out my apartment window and when I turn back to look inside, the same can of beer balancing in one hand against my knee, Goh's managed to clean just that much more of my home.  
  
I can't decide if the next feeling is another degree of annoyance or gratitude. Funny how both of those can feel almost the same. And Hayate thought I was supposedly the housewife-type. I don't have anything on Goh.  
  
He gives me a sloppy, but affectionate kiss on my forehead, tipping my chin up in order to christen me. Then he finally speaks, "That beer apparently isn't working. If I take you to T.C. now . . . will you dance with me?"  
  
"Wow. I suppose I owe you for cleaning the apartment," I try to joke, but it's terribly forced we both know, "But I'm a lousy dancer."  
  
"Then no one will try to steal you away from me," Goh glibly spins my insult into a more positive one. Heck, that's supposed to be my job.  
  
***  
  
Then she walks in. And still you're sorry,   
  
And still you're grateful,   
  
And still you wonder and still you doubt,   
  
And she goes out.   
  
***  
  
It takes quite a bit of alcohol these days to make me tipsy. All those casual beers has pushed my tolerance level too high, but I think I could have gotten giddy all on my own by the strange desire Goh's fixed on me through his possessive glances. Otherwise, one would say we'd undergone a complete role reversal.  
  
I'm the one who can't stop invading his personal space, "Hey, gorgeous." I snicker, sliding up next to where he's resting against the bar. Looking intelligently out of place among the others, even though he's sporting one of his more memorable outfits. I'm the one that always dresses like a college boy, although I never was one. Fighting back the urge to brush my fingers across his attractive stomach. Inhibitions are something I'm vaguely recollecting, although I'm not certain exactly what that's supposed to mean when I know exactly what I'd like to be doing right then.  
  
And whatever drink the bartender has handed me, Goh eyes it with suspicion.  
  
"You are soooo sober." I observe, occupying my fingers with the stripe of crimson hair furthest away from me. Pressed against him, I can't decide where I want to start kissing him first. His jaw, or ear, or his chin or . . .  
  
"You are soooo drunk." Goh echoes my comment. Of course, he's right. So I nod. Using the momentum to swallow more right from the bottle. I'm not tasting it any longer. Smacking my lips, I contemplate trying something harder, more noticeable.  
  
"Keisuke?"  
  
I almost fall into Goh even as I'm trying to see who's called my name above the throbbing dance music. Looking up, up and further up I see a perplexed smile.  
  
"Sano." I recognize, grinning ear to ear.  
  
"Hey man," Sano taps my shoulder, which is enough to make me stumble into Goh's arms again. I feel a bit left out as I hear Goh explaining that I'm alright and just enjoying the liquor a bit more than usual.  
  
"Enjoying?" Sano laughs boisterously, so much so that it sounds like he's laughing in my skull, "Sounds like our good ol' Keisuke. Well, I should go back to Imari."  
  
I think about saying something to Imari, but even if I manage to slur a word or two past my drooping eyelids, all I feel is Goh's grip tightening me against him. The wonderful feeling of not being alone. Breathing deeply the space where his neck meets his shoulders.  
  
"Keisuke?" His voice rumbles a bit and I feel it in my chest against his. Somehow becoming more alert in that moment. Coming back from the blur that had brought Sano and then taken him away.  
  
"Coming," I say, finding my voice again. I push against him, balancing once more.  
  
"Are you ready to go home?" His voice trailing off before supplying the comment, 'yet.' My face is inches from his and I focus on one steady dark eye and then the other. I have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind if I manage to get home and I'm still conscious.  
  
"Home?" I've got most of the control of my lips back, "Together?" I wiggle my eyebrows in my best Duo impression. Fleetingly I'm distracted, wondering where Duo is.  
  
"You're not . . . no." Goh leans up from his elbows, taking a more authoritative position above my eyesight giving me a close up of his smooth chin, "Not when you feel like this, Keisuke."  
  
I feel my brows try to knit together over my nose, frustrated but not quite sure why. The rush of annoyance clearing my mind a bit. "Fine." I step back, only wobbling a little to hurt my surfacing pride, "I'd rather stay here a bit longer, thank you." Then demonstrating my coordination by walking backwards into the fray of younger dancers, only jostling three or four of them and I try to keep Goh's eye. Willing him to come to me.  
  
Which he doesn't.  
  
I usually hate dancing, alone and with anyone else. But tonight I simply don't care. Just trying to keep out of everyone's way and on my own two feet is exhilarating in a way. Now and again, I'll realize that I'm smiling at the same person who's grinning back at me. Smiles are contagious. One girl had a tongue piercing that I found incredibly fascinating as she balanced it over her teeth.  
  
"Are you really all pure, innocent, and perfect?"  
  
I almost didn't realize she was speaking to me. I stop staring at the ceiling to see two incredibly augmented blue eyes blinking at me. She has her arms balancing on my shoulders and rocks her hips against me for a moment, tilting her head back and showing a very slender throat. When she flips her hair forward, she squeals above the music.  
  
"Does he make love to you all night and then pick up your messes all day long?" She has her head tilted to one side, and I'm wondering how my hands put themselves onto her girlish waist. She's wearing a strange sweater that looks like a wooly pillow and a pleated skirt. Quite a strange teenager contrast to the narrow, worldly look she's evaluating me with.  
  
"What?" I say rather dumbly, not quite certain who she is and why she's there and what she means. Then in a flash of white light, I finally notice the telltale signature of violet hair.  
  
Drunk as a skunk, and with about half a wit to realize it, I've just met Shiori.  
  
***  
  
You're always sorry, You're always grateful,   
  
You hold her thinking, "I'm not alone."   
  
You're still alone.   
  
You don't live for her, You do live with her,   
  
You're scared she's starting to drift away   
  
And scared she'll stay.   
  
***  
  
"Girlfriend!" She bounces a bit as the song changes, "You've got Goh-Goh." Her hair more or less secured in a pink ribbon to accent her deviantly naïve appearance. "How does it feel? Do you like him? Does he look at you like this," she demonstrates, "and then just leave you wanting him?"  
  
"Excuse me?" I manage that much, a bit nonplussed by her unveiled comments that could have been heard by anyone but weren't. I'm no longer blinking in confusion and stop letting her move me with her, taking my hands away and holding them in the air as if to ask her to stop. The way she's rubbing the flat of her palm lower down my back is unnerving. "Stop, stop, stop." I reach around myself to grab her arms.  
  
"I'm sorry." She almost asks, "Was I bothering you? I'm sorry." She backs off about three inches, "Hayate was just telling me that you and Goh- Goh were an item now."  
  
"Hayate?" I shake my head, trying to clear it and learn what I can, "Is he here?"  
  
"He's darling cute himself, you know." Shiori winks, still moving a bit with the music and spinning her bangle bracelets around delicately slender wrists, "Quite the prince charming yearning after his true love and all. Sad that."  
  
I wonder how much she knows. I have a strange feeling that this Shiori isn't the one that convinces Hayate to stay with her. Coerces him to share things with her. What little I remember seeing of her involved a lot of bare leg and coy flirty-ness. Nothing spiteful. What had Goh said, she wasn't vindictive?  
  
"I'm not bothering you, am I?" She asks, and I can't accurately describe the look she's giving me. Her mouth parts open and she has a very pink tongue.  
  
The next thing I know, I'm staring at the back of Goh's leather vest. His shoulders pulling forward to apparently cross over his chest. Suddenly able to let go a little, my forehead rests between his shoulders for support. I hear and feel him say her name, but by the time I feel less dizzy and look over his shoulder, she's gone away.  
  
He does manage to turn all the way around and catch me before I slump forward again. "Okay, Keisuke, my silly friend. Time to go home."  
  
And he does exactly that, somehow maneuvering me away from the mass of dancers, home and the next thing I know I'm in my own bed.  
  
***  
  
Good things get better, Bad get worse.   
  
Wait--I think I meant that in reverse. You're sorry-grateful, Regretful- happy,   
  
Why look for answers where none occur?   
  
You'll always be what you always were,   
  
Which has nothing to do with,   
  
All to do with her.   
  
***  
  
I'm slow to wake with a funny ache in my head and a sour taste in my throat. The most comforting and unexpected aspect of waking was having Goh near. The flush of embarrassment of obviously making him escort me drunk out of my mind nearly balances with the simple, nice security of how he holds me snuggly against his chest. Breath warm against the back of my neck like the promise of unfathomable forgiveness.  
  
His hair is sort of ticklish however.  
  
Twisting, mostly my neck, I risk kissing him. Feeling a bit indecent that he was spending his time watching over me.  
  
Practicality returns to my nature instantaneously. While I know I'm free of responsibilities until the next Monday, I fear that the full sunlight through the blinds means that he's missed something important.  
  
I'm trying to figure out the quietest way to panic when I realize that he's watching me, already awake.  
  
"How's the noggin?" He says quite unromantically, smirking at me, quite unlike the calm and pleasant countenance that I had adored moments before he woke. "You are the most stupid and stubborn drunk I've seen in a long time."  
  
"Takes a bit for me to get drunk," I frown, not certain who I'm disappointed in, but I'm feeling better than when I first woke up and consequently, more agreeable in general. "You're one of the lucky few to see me far gone."  
  
"This is twice now, I do believe." Goh sits up, running his fingers up through his hair succeeding in making it stand in even more gravity defying angles. As he does so, the sun falls across my eyes unblocked.  
  
"Ack, I need sunglasses . . . or something." I fold my arm over my eyes. "I think I have this obnoxiously large pair from my sister just in my top drawer if you don't mind getting them for me, sweetie." I tease.  
  
"Sweetie?" When he repeats it, the endearment sounds different. And I'm re-remembering my earlier concerns.  
  
"Do you have to be somewhere?" I sit up, but he's already pulling on a spare shirt of mine and walking around in those pajama bottoms he liked to borrow.  
  
"Don't worry." He glances over with a grateful smile, "I've got enough time." Then crossing out into the hallway, he adds, "I'll be back."  
  
I slip into the kitchen and shake the box of cereal Hayate left. Thinking there might be enough for two if I use extra milk to make up the difference. It's too late for Friday morning cartoons, and I debate turning on the news or not.  
  
"Keisuke?"  
  
I call to him from the kitchen, letting him know where I am. When he doesn't appear, I peek around the corner to see him standing in the hallway brushing his teeth. Even in the shadows of the hall, I can see his silhouette from the light in my room. He's studying the pictures on the wall. My heart beats a step faster. Ready and willing him to ask me about Sorata.  
  
"Yeah," I call weakly.  
  
"Shiori . . . didn't say anything to upset you last night, did she?" He ducks into the bathroom a moment and comes out demonstrating his clean smile even as I hand him breakfast. He chuckles, eating it anyway, then chewing more somberly, waits.  
  
"I can't remember too much," I think back, finding I'd only a few images and impressions of her really. "I didn't realize it was her until she mentioned Hayate."  
  
"She put you and Hayate together?" Goh asks.  
  
"Apparently," I shrug, "Or maybe it was her hair that gave her away. What's with the purple?"  
  
"Why do I dye mine red?" Goh unexpectedly responds, and I have no answer even though he continues without waiting, "Do you have anything to drink?" He's draining the milk from his bowl already, and I've yet to really start mine. Pulling open the kitchen door I nod consent as he takes the milk, "Strawberry soda?" His eyebrows lift as he closes the refrigerator again.  
  
"It's Hayate's?" I weakly protest, clearly lying. It was a silly summer addiction Miaka had introduced me to when I spent most of the warmer months commuting to stay with my family. When I had less persons to consistently entertain me during the summer months.  
  
As he moves around the apartment looking better in my pajamas that I ever could, I indulge in thoughts that he might always stay with me here. Replacing in pieces everything I thought I needed from other means. Now and again he gives me a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow as if waiting for me to explain. But what he expects to hear, I'm not certain. And what I want to say, that I'm uncertain of as well.  
  
Since he doesn't tell on his own, I want to ask him more about Shiori, but I can't seem to . . . yet.  
  
Walking past each other becomes some strange dance of getting ready for the day. Meeting eyes and saying nothing or very little. Putting our daily camouflage on in layers. Goh saying something about needing to pick up his text before going to class. I mumble about needing new cereal.  
  
In one pass, I realize that there are messages on the answering machine from the night before. First I listen to Goh's earlier recording that I hadn't deleted. Then three messages of equal anxiety and excitement from Duo who was insisting I come to his next concert with Kazuma and company. And to bring Goh if I wanted to and could.  
  
Fixing the laces on his shoes, sitting on the couch with a bag of his things to return to his own apartment, Goh nods enthusiastically, "I'd love to be there."  
  
Then hoping he gets my drift, I wave him out the door, "I'd - love - for you to be there too."  
  
I lean against the door long after he's gone. Unable to think.  
  
***  
  
You'll always be what you always were,   
  
Which has nothing to do with, All to do with her.   
  
Nothing to do with, All to do with her.  
  
***  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
I had a terribly hard time writing this, probably because I was miles away from my computer when I was inspired to do so. I'm thinking that Duo's next concert should be interesting and I hope will allow me to reintroduce some of the missing characters. *crosses fingers*  
  
Kathy: Thanks for the continuing support. I was expecting a confrontation this time around, but it seems that unlike Sorata, Shiori was the one wanting to initiate confrontations this time around. I'm usually able to channel one chapter a week, but the holiday really threw me. *chuckle* Again, thanks.  
  
Kay: *runs to rescue Kay* I've grown addicted to ~your~ enthusiasm. It's delightful to know that someone's regularly having fun with this particular fic. I hereby dedicate all happy Goh and Keisuke moments to you. Although, I have no idea what's in store for them next. ~looks in back pocket for conflict~ *shrugs*  
  
In the meantime, if you're looking for extra Half-Baked goodies. I currently have two pre-Half-Baked stories written: "An Affair on 8th Avenue" details the high school adventures of Duo, Sorata and Keisuke. The new one, "Violently Happy," peers a bit into Goh's past and how Shiori tangled into it. The pre-H-B'ed stories are nice to flesh things out a bit and I'll probably write a few more of them.  
  
Thanks for reading. 


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